


Otters for Life

by hannah_baker



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2029-2030 season, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dylan is retired but Connor is not, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-20 18:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: Now that Dylan was retired, he had a nice life going for him back home in the GTA. He had a dog and a boyfriend and a teenage hockey team to coach. Things had settled. But then Connor McDavid signed with the Maple Leafs, and Dylan couldn't hide the fact that he never got over his feelings for his first love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just some background on this fic: it is set in the 2029-2030 season. Dylan and Connor turn 33 in 2030.
> 
> Connor had a kid when he was 22, and married the kid's mom later that year. Got divorced 5 years after that cause GAY.
> 
> Dylan got traded around a bunch. Retired from the Bolts in 2028 after a knee injury was re-injured and really done in. Dylan has been with his boyfriend in this story for about five months and does end up cheating on him, if that's something you can't abide. 
> 
> Thank you, Tarra, for beta-ing <3 
> 
> This fic is done! I have finished with it. I'm posting it in two parts because it's easier to break it up like that for me. You can expect the second part next Saturday :)

Dylan heard about it through the grapevine. Or, well, he heard about it through Mitch, which was basically the same thing.

 

“Sounds like Davo is looking to sign with the Leafs.”

 

It was summer, but the hockey season was closing in. Dylan had an ache in his chest knowing that Mitch was going back to the NHL, and for only the second time in what felt like his entire life, Dylan didn’t have a hockey team to report to. Or, at least not one he was playing for. He didn’t think the girl’s high school team he was going to coach in the fall counted.

 

“I thought Connor would retire in orange and blue,” Dylan thought, offhandedly. He hadn’t spent a lot of his time in the last several years thinking all that hard about Connor McDavid. They’d been close when they were kids, sure. But they weren’t kids anymore. They’d lost touch.

 

Mitch, however, lost touch with no one. It wasn’t in his DNA.

 

They were at Dylan’s apartment in Toronto, which Mitch described as “too quiet.” After having three kids, Mitch wasn’t used to quiet. It’s not like he’d cultivated a bubble of quiet before his kids. He used to seek out other people’s kids for that youthful chaotic energy that matched his own. Mitch was thirty-two and one of the certified old guys, but he still acted like he was sixteen, and Dylan figured that would never stop at this rate.

 

“Looks like he wants to come back home,” Mitch said, shrugging. “You talk to him lately?”

 

“The last time I talked to him was two years ago after I busted my knee for good. Just a message on Instagram. The time before that, I think I was still in Arizona.”

 

“I _literally_ cannot believe that, knowing what you two were like in junior.”

 

“Yeah, well, you know the deal. He had a kid. He got married. Where does your boyfriend from junior really fit into that.”

 

“I guess when you put it that way,” Mitch said, and then thankfully changed the subject.

 

Dylan didn’t know who he envied the more—Connor, who had been stuck in Edmonton for a thousand years but did, ultimately, end up winning the cup, or Mitch, who had gotten to play his entire career in his hometown for the team he cheered for as a kid, but never quite got the big trophy.

 

Or maybe he should rephrase that a little. Sometimes Dylan wondered, at this point, if any of the superstar guys in his draft class envied him: a little under the radar, a little broken, sure. But Dylan didn’t have a single NHL responsibility on his schedule for the foreseeable future, and there was something powerful about that too.

 

\---

 

Dylan got the notification on his phone when Connor signed with the Leafs officially. He saw photos of him in blue and white on social media. He saw the betrayal of Edmonton fans, the elation of Toronto fans. Mitch and Connor did a press conference where Mitch, a white C on his shoulder, talked about how exciting it was to have Connor coming home.

 

Yeah. That was all well and good. Dylan turned his phone off, took his dog on a walk. His mom kept telling him that he needed to get a real job so that he could have something to fill his days, but he didn’t really know what that meant. She kept calling him driftless.

 

Dylan could understand that. He spent his days hanging out with his dog, playing video games, obsessively checking his bank account, trying to figure out exactly how much money he should spend every year to never have to have a job again. He’d invested his hockey money pretty wisely, had sold his last house in Florida for a profit when he’d retired from the Bolts. And now he had a modest condo and a nice Toyota and no kids to send to college.

 

He didn’t get the point of a job if he didn’t need one. He didn’t even know how to have a job at this point.

 

\---

 

Dylan was with Chris when he got the text from Mitch.

 

Chris had a little house outside of Toronto, a day job, and a vegetable garden. He had these nerdy glasses that kind of turned Dylan on. He was a pretty good cook and a better boyfriend than Dylan deserved, and Dylan spent most of his nights on Chris’ couch watching TV before he either slept over or Chris kicked him out.

 

Blue was there, Dylan’s nervous little honey of a grey and white pit mix, and she had her paws and head resting on Chris’ lap because she trusted him. Dylan looked to his dog a little too much when it came to trying to decide whether or not he liked someone, and she’d liked Chris right away. Blue had liked Chris faster than she’d started liking Dylan, so Dylan figured that was something to listen to.

 

Chris was tucked up under Dylan’s arm as they watched the news together, and Dylan felt his phone buzz.

 

_Wanna catch up with Davo? Get lunch the three of us tomorrow? It’ll be like 2015 all over again._

 

It was Mitch, and Dylan’s first instinct was to remind Mitch that he’d had eight panic attacks in 2015, and he could still detail all of them to Mitch if he needed to. 2015 was the beginning of the end. When Dylan reached for those feelings, he could feel the frayed edges of his broken heart, as fresh and present as they had been their draft year.

 

But instead, he shot back a _sure thing_ , and Mitch told him a restaurant to meet at.

 

“Gonna have lunch with some old hockey friends tomorrow,” Dylan told Chris, who turned just enough to look at Dylan with a quirked eyebrow.

 

“Okay,” Chris said, in a way that made it sound like it was not okay at all.

 

“It will be fine,” Dylan assured him. “Just lunch.”

 

“Well, call me if you need rescuing. I can duck out of work and come save you.” Chris tucked his face onto Dylan’s chest, and it was warm and nice the way things kind of always were with Chris. Fine. Manageable. Calm. Chris knew that Dylan’s hockey history was a little rocky. He was worried. Dylan liked having someone worry about him. It had been years since he’d had that.

 

\---

 

Having lunch in public with Mitch Marner and Connor McDavid in Toronto was a delicate scenario that required a private room at the restaurant they went to. There was an internal list of restaurants who would do this for Leafs that apparently the players kept track of in a Google Sheet. Dylan could have worn a t-shirt around Tampa Bay declaring exactly who he was, and still no one would have cared.

 

They were at a Mexican place, and Dylan was grateful for the distraction of chips and salsa while he waited for Mitch and Connor to arrive after practice. The season had started. They were a few games in, and Dylan hadn’t watched any of them.

 

When they finally arrived Dylan’s nerves had already come and gone. He was used to Mitch’s easy demeanor, how his face was beginning to show the creases of his ever-present smile. Connor was on his heels, hands in his pockets, sheepish look on his face. He was hunched, his blonde hair just a little shaggy on top, but tight around the sides. He looked just as fucking good as he always did.

 

And that was something Dylan never could forget.

 

Mitch had hugged Dylan, so Dylan felt like he had to hug Connor, a short embrace that only served to remind Dylan how different Connor was now, how different his body was after ten years of not seeing each other except on the ice, across from each other on the faceoff dot when their lines were even matched against each other.

 

“You look good,” Connor said as he sat down at the table next to him, Mitch choosing the chair across from Dylan. No one commented on how depleted the chips and salsa already were.

 

“You too, man. It’s nice to see you,” Dylan said, and it was true. It was like ripping off a bandaid. That first moment had been scary, but now it was just Davo. He’d always just been Davo.

 

Mitch, god bless him, spearheaded the conversation, getting Connor to talk about moving back to Toronto, getting Dylan to talk about the team he would be coaching when the high school hockey season started up in a week. This was why Mitch had that C on his jersey. Dylan always joked that after hockey, Mitch should run for Mayor of Toronto, since he was already so beloved.

 

“It’s been nice for Noah to have Mitch’s rascals here, that’s for sure,” Connor said, bringing up his kid for the first time. Mitch and Connor had been about the same age when they’d had their first kids, though Mitch’s was on purpose, and Connor’s had been...not so much, from what Dylan could tell.

 

“Is he liking Toronto? How old is he again now?” Dylan asked.

 

“Yeah,” Connor said. Something in his face relaxed when he talked about his kid. “I mean, we always did spend summer in Toronto, so it’s not alien to him. Gets to see his grandparents a lot more. Molly’s family is here and everything, so it’s been good. He’s ten now, which is insane.”

 

Molly. Connor’s ex-wife. Dylan hadn’t even known there _was_ a Molly before he saw the announcement that Connor was missing a game for the birth of his first child. Dylan thought he remembered them getting married _after_ their kid was born. He certainly remembers Connor’s divorce five years later, which the media had treated like the end of fucking Edmonton as they knew it.

 

Dylan didn’t pry for details on Connor’s former relationship. “Is Noah playing hockey?” he asked, and that was the end of any hopes for the conversation being about anything other than Noah’s hockey for the next forty minutes.

 

“He’s so good,” Connor said, gushing over his enchiladas. “His hands, his hockey sense. Obviously, I’m a little biased, but I’d also like to think I know what I’m talking about, and this kid is special.”

 

“I don’t envy him being Connor McDavid’s kid,” Dylan said.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch said, through a mouthful of burrito. “I’m kind of happy my kids aren’t good at hockey. The oldest, Mason, won’t even get on skates. He’s a soccer kid. He’s also a rebel. But whatever, I’m not going to be the dad micromanaging my kid’s sports life.” Connor and Dylan both knew that Mitch’s young life, and professional career for that matter, had involved a lot more of Mitch’s dad than everyone really wanted.

 

“Noah will be fine. If he’s good enough for the O, he can do that. If he just wants to play for his high school team, that’s okay too.”

 

“Is it really?” Dylan asked, nudging Connor’s knee with his own, teasing him. He knew Connor’s drive, his work ethic. Connor didn’t know how to do things halfway. He doubted he’d let a kid with that much skill just...play high school hockey.

 

Connor looked a little bashful again, like he’d been caught. “I mean. I’ve got six years before I need to deal with his OHL draft.”

 

“Already talking about it like it’s a thing,” Mitch said, then switched the subject to the Leaf’s new kids, unable to believe that they themselves were ever that young in the NHL. “They’re like, infants.”

 

“Says the kid who collected team dads when he was still a young kid in the league,” Connor said.

 

“Not everyone got the C and had to grow up right away,” Mitch shrugged, and it was true. Connor had to be an adult in the room before he was an adult himself. He had to be captain of an NHL team while Dylan was still an Otter.

 

“And speaking of being a grown up,” Mitch said, checking his watch, “I have kids to pick up.”

 

“I don’t have to be anywhere,” Connor said, an invitation for Dylan to stay with him. So, Dylan nodded, the two of them watching Mitch disappear out the back, so he wouldn’t have to sign forty autographs just to get to his car. Dylan got a taste of that back when he was in Chicago, but it was short-lived, like everything in Chicago for him.

 

“So you’re back home,” Dylan said, turning a little to face Connor, the space now feeling a little more intimate now that Mitch had left. Mitch always made every room he was in feel so much bigger, since he needed a lot of space to just exist.

 

“Yeah. Though, now that Mitch is gone, I can admit it’s a little weird.”

 

“The blue and white?”

 

“Just...it’s been fifteen years since I’ve been in a locker room that wasn’t the Oilers. And before that, the Otters? That was my locker room too. I’ve got an A on my jersey for the first time in my life. I can’t pretend that isn’t kind of a mindfuck.”

 

“Well, captain, you can’t help that you’re bossy,” Dylan teased.

 

“I’m not bossy, I’m just…”

 

“You’re bossy,” Dylan said, shrugging. “You always did know what you wanted.”

 

Connor bit his lip, looked up at Dylan right in his eyes. “I guess that’s true.”

 

\---

 

Dylan’s first practice with his new team was a trip. He’d never coached girls before, and they were chatty and bright and happy. Dylan wasn’t sure if that was their age or gender, but he was grateful to have Shannon Moulson there as the assistant coach to help with the um, girl stuff. She was a teacher too, so she knew how to deal with kids. He also liked that Shannon was from Mississauga. Their initial meetings had gone well.

 

However, on the ice, it was chaos. Girls who had played on different teams the year before expecting different things. They started with some skating warm ups, and then Shannon broke off with the defencemen, and Dylan took the forwards, and they ran drills and shot on the goalies.

 

It was a long hour, and Dylan’s knee ached afterward. He hoped it was up for coaching, because he knew for a fact that it wasn’t up for playing hockey.

 

He was sweaty when they had gotten off the ice and packed up their things, girls with huge gear bags over their shoulders, sticks in their hands, hair tied up on the very tops of their heads as they waited for parents to pick them up.

 

“It’s going to be a good year,” Shannon said, coming up behind him to wait with him and the players who were still awaiting rides.

 

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. He hadn’t exactly gotten that out of their first practice, but if Shannon thought so, Dylan could get on board. He’d believed in teams that had less.

 

\---

 

Connor and Molly’s custody agreement was mercifully flexible. Connor knew he didn’t deserve an ex-wife who made it so easy on him to see his kid, especially after what he did. But Molly had always been kind to him. Had stayed in Edmonton after their divorce even though she had the right to move herself and Noah back to Toronto if she’d wanted.

 

She stayed so Connor could have as much time with his kid as possible. There was no way to really pay her back for that. Even the child support he paid on top of the money she’d received from the divorce felt like pennies. So when he’d had the chance to sign with Toronto, he didn’t feel like there was any other choice. If it had been just him, he probably would have stayed in Edmonton forever. Retired there. But Molly always hated leaving Toronto at the end of the summer. He felt like he could do that much for her.

 

Conor had Noah for two whole days in a row, which was almost unheard of due to his schedule, and he was trying to get as much fun out of those hours as possible. Of course, it was hockey season, and all Noah wanted to do was skate.

 

Connor had bought this big stupid house for his kid, so it felt natural to install a rink in his backyard. It was permanent, with a concrete pad under it that Noah could use for ball hockey in the summer, which refrigerated the ice in the winter so it could be used before it was cold enough for mother nature to chill ice.

 

It was expensive, but Noah loved it. And why else was Connor earning money other than to spoil his kid a little, give him something that made him happy to come over to stay at his dad’s house? Connor kept an extra set of Noah’s gear and an extra set of his own skates at home so they could skate without planning. Basically, the second Noah got into Connor’s house he was already trying to dash out the back door to put his skates on.

 

“At least it’s exercise,” Molly said as she handed over Noah’s overnight bag and closed the door behind her. It was hard to restrict Noah’s ice time, because Connor knew he would have wanted the same thing as a ten-year-old.

 

Connor suited up in cold weather gear, grabbed his stick and gloves, and carried his own skates out to the bench by the rink. Noah had unlaced his skates and stuck his feet in them, waiting for his dad to tie them. Every time Connor tied his kid’s skates, he got this rush of love that made his heart feel too small for everything in it. He remembered his own dad tying his skates, and hoped that when Noah was his age, he could remember these moments sweetly too.

 

For Connor, nothing said “I love you” quite like tying someone’s skates for them.

 

Molly insisted on a helmet for Noah, and it was hard to argue with safety, even though Noah fussed with it for the two seconds it was on before he stepped out on the ice. Once Noah’s skates hit the rink though, everything else disappeared for him. Connor could see it happen, like a trance coming over him. Connor knew that feeling, loved that feeling. Like Noah was the most _himself_ when he was on the ice. Connor never doubted the paternity of his kid—have you seen his teeth?—but when he saw Noah skate, he knew he’d gotten something specific passed down to him from his dad.

 

That day all Noah wanted to do was shoot pucks into the net. And Connor knew there were more productive things to spend their time on the ice doing, but at the same time—fuck. Noah was fucking ten. They were shooting pucks.

 

\---

 

It had been a week since Connor had had lunch with Dylan and Mitch, and Connor couldn’t shake the image of him from his head. He’d seen Dylan’s face in media and across the dot over the years, but it had been forever since he’d been able to sit with him, watch his face change as he laughed, try to predict what his eyebrows were going to do. He was so handsome now, with a short but even beard, his hair needing a haircut. He looked much more at home in his body than he had when they were teens.

 

All Connor could think about was the sweater that was stretched over Dylan’s shoulders when they had met for lunch.

 

“Hey, can I grab Dylan’s number from you?” Connor asked Mitch after practice one afternoon. Mitch raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“You don’t have Dylan’s number?”

 

“I told you we didn’t really keep in touch. I assume it’s not the same number he had when we were kids.” Connor had burned through several numbers in his time since the draft. It always felt like it was only a matter of time before he’d have to change it again.

 

“Yeah, no it’s not,” Mitch said, pulling his phone out to text Connor Dylan’s info. “You gonna see him again?”

 

“Yeah, maybe. Kind of makes sense now that we’re in the same city again.” Connor tried to be subtle, but by the look on Mitch’s face, he could tell Mitch was skeptical. Mitch pulled Connor close to him by the collar of his hoodie.

 

“Dylan has a boyfriend,” Mitch said, and Connor flashed back to when they were kids, and how protective Mitch was of Dylan.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Connor said. He was trying to sound innocent. And it would be innocent. He would respect Dylan’s relationship. Who Dylan was with was none of Connor’s business. “Can’t I just reconnect with my old friend?”

 

“Alright, but I got eyes on you buddy,” Mitch said, a little smile on his face as he cuffed Connor on the shoulder.

 

\---

 

They got lunch again, the two of them, since lunch seemed to be when they both were available. It was just a steakhouse this time, and Dylan got salmon which confunded Connor.

 

“Why are you looking at me like an alien? I need those Omega 3’s, dude. Joints. My knee, you know,” Dylan explained when Connor couldn’t stop gaping at his fish.

 

“I don’t remember seeing you turn down a steak a single time, is all,” Connor said. They were in another back room. Connor had given up on dining in public long ago when people in Edmonton would come up to him while he was eating and yell at him.

 

“Well, I’ve turned down a few since, what, twenty sixteen?”

 

“Fair,” Connor said.

 

Dylan had a quarter-zip on, and he kept picking dog hair off the sleeves, his face going soft every time he did.

 

“Tell me about your dog,” Connor said. It’s the easiest conversational transition he’d ever made in his entire life.

 

“Her name is Blue and she’s this tiny little pit,” he said, pulling photos up on his phone. There were probably thousands, but Dylan scrolled through a few, lingering on one of the two of them. In it, Dylan was holding Blue in his arms, the happiest smiles on both of their faces. “You know that stupid cliche where people say that they didn’t rescue their dog, their dog rescued them?” Dylan rolled his eyes as though it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard, but at the same time, Connor could see that was obvious.

 

“When did you get her?”

 

“When I moved back last year. A little over a year ago now. I had this condo and this stupid knee that was...I don’t know, healing but doctors made it pretty clear that it would never be normal again. And I saw her pop up on Facebook. That’s probably dumb, right? But she had a broken leg that needed healing, and her rescue needed a foster. So I fostered her, this girl who was broken who no one wanted. And.” He sighs. “Shit, this is probably too many emotions, right? Anyway, yeah, Blue is special.”

 

“I can tell,” Connor said. “And you don’t have to protect me from your emotions. Surprisingly enough, we do all have them, as much as we like to pretend we don’t.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Can I meet her?” Connor asked. He liked the idea of it, of seeing Dylan and Blue together. Connor’s parents had always had a dog, and he kind of missed that. But with his current life, it didn’t make sense for him to get one himself.

 

“Like, today?”

 

“I mean, doesn’t have to be today, but I don’t have anything going on.” Days without Noah always felt like wasted days, but he wasn’t going to ask Molly for time outside of the original schedule. He knew she didn’t like plans changing. He tried to respect that as much as he could. Especially since he knew he’d still get to Facetime Noah before bed.

 

“Sure, man,” Dylan said. Dylan had this enigmatic smile that had perplexed Connor for some seventeen-odd years. He always smiled like he was only giving you 80% of whatever the feeling he had was. Connor always, always wanted that last 20%. He used to know how to get it, too.

 

Now, it was a different game.

 

They finished their food, Connor telling Dylan a little about his brother, who had just had his second kid. “Noah’s obsessed with him, keeps asking when he’ll be able to skate together.”

 

“The first kid doesn’t skate?”

 

“The first kid is old news,” Connor said, shrugging.

 

Dylan gave Connor his address and told him where to park, met him down in the lobby of his building. Connor watched the woman at the front desk gape when she saw Connor walk in, but she didn’t say anything. Connor wished he could wear some kind of mask everywhere, one that looked nothing like him. One that just looked like some guy.

 

He followed Dylan into the elevator. “When we get there, kind of just ignore her okay? She’s nervous around new men. She’s not mean. She won’t bite or anything, but she’ll be suspicious.”

 

“Okay. So just stand there?”

 

“Um, just sit down at my kitchen table and let her come sniff you, okay?” Connor could tell how nervous this made Dylan. How much he cared about his dog liking Connor.

 

Dylan opened the door, and blue stuck her head up from the couch she was laying on, resting her head on the back of the couch. She saw Dylan, then she saw Connor and barked immediately.

 

“Sit at the table,” Dylan instructed, walking over to where his dog still was on the couch, cooing to her. He had this sweet, high puppy voice he used to talk to her. Connor hadn’t been nervous before, but he just realized that this might be a big deal. If Dylan’s dog didn’t like Connor, would they have any kind of a future? Even just as friends?

 

“Hi sweet pea, I brought you a friend. He’s nice, I promise, okay?” She licked Dylan’s face, then got off the couch, slinking forward to check out Connor. Connor ignored her, not looking her in the eye. Blue came up to him and smelled him, and he put his hand down for her to lick, which was the wrong move. She jumped back and growled.

 

Dylan was watching them interact and grabbed a bag of treats, pouring some out into Connor’s hand.

 

“Slow and steady, alright? She’s usually not as calm as she is right now, so this is good, just so you know.”

 

Connor felt pride bloom in his chest. He couldn’t help how good doing well felt. He was addicted to that feeling. It was directly responsible for the life he was currently living.

 

He didn’t look at Blue, but took one treat between his fingers and lowered his hand down to her level. She took it very gingerly from his hand, then licked him. Connor gave her another, and then Blue was climbing up onto his lap for the rest of them.

 

Connor laughed, doling out treats as Blue wiggled in his lap. She was exceptionally small for a pit. She was probably mixed with something small to begin with. She had her ears back which made her look innocent. Connor could one hundred percent understand why Dylan loved her.

 

“I kind of can’t believe what’s happening here,” Dylan said, coming close enough to pet Blue’s ears, scratch at the fur under her purple collar.

 

“We’re best friends,” Connor declared, letting Blue lick his cheek. He wasn’t really into dog kisses, but this wasn’t any dog. This was Dylan’s dog. His baby, clearly.

 

“I see that.” Dylan’s voice was fond, and he cleared his throat like he needed to shake something loose inside of him. “We should probably hit the grass outside, right girly?”

 

Blue’s ears perked up at the word ‘outside,’ and they headed back out, down the elevator to the little fenced dog area.

 

“Sometimes I think I should get a house for her to have her own yard,” Dylan said, as they leaned against the fence next to each other, watching Blue play with a couple dogs she was clearly familiar with. “But then I think about her friends here, and it seems kind of silly. She’s mostly a couch dog anyway. So lazy.”

 

“Thanks for letting me meet her,” Connor said.

 

“I’m still not over how easily she warmed up to you. She didn’t even like Chris that fast, and I thought that was pretty impressive.”

 

“Chris is the boyfriend?” Connor tried to use his most normal voice, but as soon as he started thinking about it, he forgot what his normal voice even sounded like.

 

“Yeah, he’s um, he’s my boyfriend. He’s a nice guy.”

 

“I’m sure,” Connor said, both wanting to know what he looked like, and also not wanting that information in his head. He was coming to realize that he was jealous of Chris. Apparently, Dylan was picking up on it in his voice.

 

“Connor,” Dylan said, turning to look right at him. They were close enough for Connor to have to tip his head up the tiniest amount to meet his gaze.

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said, without Dylan having to say anything. He wasn’t sure if he could handle Dylan letting him down gently or whatever he was about to do.

 

“I’m really happy you’re here,” Dylan said instead, settling back against the fence. “I didn’t think it would be so good to see you. But for the record, it is.”

 

And that? That felt like some kind of victory.

 

When the dogs Blue was playing with went back to their own apartments, Blue came back over to them, letting Connor bend down to scratch her ears, pet down her back, scratch her butt.

 

“Alright, since you’re being so fucking cute together, I gotta take a picture. Blue will ask to see it later. She’s so vain,” Dylan said, rolling his eyes. Connor picked her up like he’d seen Dylan do in the photo he showed Connor earlier, but all she did was lick his face for the thirty seconds Dylan was taking pictures.

 

“I’m sure you got a lot of good ones there,” Connor said, putting her down again gently.

 

“Something like that,” Dylan said, smiling down at the screen of his phone. Connor wasn’t sure he was completely out of the game.

 

\---

 

For some reason, Dylan’s brother was really into game nights. Which meant that he and Chris played Ryan and Sydney’s favorite German resource-collecting board game Catan with them once a week, and they ate all the garbage food that they weren’t allowed to eat when they were playing hockey professionally. Their little brother Matt was still playing, now the captain of the Kings. As predicted, he had a more explosive career than his two older brothers combined. That’s just how things end up.

 

Dylan was always kind of a grump about game night, because Syd was so fucking good at Catan that she always creamed them all, with no remorse.

 

“We can just cancel if you’re going to be so annoying about it,” Chris said, as they packed up the snacks that they made. Dylan clipped Blue’s lead to her harness. Dylan didn’t really like doing anything or going anywhere that meant leaving Blue alone. Thankfully, Ryan loved her too, and their golden was always happy to chase Blue around and then nap together for a few hours.

 

The thought of canceling meant Dylan and Chris alone all night, which Dylan didn’t think he could handle. Dylan really liked Chris. He was so smart and kind, and honestly good in bed. But seeing Connor again—spending time with Connor lately—well, there was a lot going on in his mind and his heart, whether he wanted it or not.

 

“No, I’m going to go eat pizza bagels and smile when Syd gets Longest Road again,” Dylan said. He had a pocket full of treats for Blue, and hopefully as good of an attitude as he could muster.

 

Still, the evening was awkward. Dylan had his white Catan pieces spread out in front of him, sharing a bowl of pistachios with Syd next to him, and trying to look at what resource cards she had in her hand.

 

“What are you guys up to?” Ryan asked casually. He was being smug about the monopoly he had on wheat, and it was honestly making him easier to be around, if not more fun to play against. Stromes were a competitive breed: more comfortable when winning, insufferable when losing.

 

“Dylan’s been reconnecting with hockey friends,” Chris said, looking up at him with a smile on his face, like it was a good thing. Like he was proud of Dylan for leaving his apartment and seeing humans who weren’t him, or people he was being paid to see. Teenagers.

 

He also didn’t know that Connor was Dylan’s first love, and it wasn’t exactly information that Dylan was excited for him to find out.

 

“Davo?” Ryan asked, head tilting to the side in question. Of course he knew Connor was back in town. Everyone in the hockey world knew Connor was a Leaf now.

 

“Uh, yeah, actually. We’ve been hanging out a bit. It’s been nice to see him, after all these years.”

 

“How’s he doing?” Ryan asked, and Dylan shrugged, trying to be casual about this, even though it didn’t feel like something he could be casual about. It felt like something big and scary that he was trying to keep tamped down in too-small of a container.

 

“He’s fine. He’s liking the Leafs. Adjusting to being Mitch’s A.”

 

“I’m sure that would be an adjustment process for any man,” Ryan said. They let Syd derail their conversation to make some big moves and take Longest Road, but Ryan was still giving him the eye about it. Ryan, probably better than anyone, knew how much Dylan had loved Connor. How broken he’d been after they broke up. It had been years, but...distance is supposed to make the heart grow fonder, right? Thankfully, Ryan kept his fucking mouth shut about Connor being his old boyfriend.

 

\---

 

Connor existed on a hockey schedule, and frequently that meant he was out of town. But he was on his way back from Florida, after beating Dylan’s old Bolts, and he apparently had Dylan on the mind. That’s what Dylan was telling himself at least when Connor called him up from the Tampa airport, as they waited to board their plane.

  
“You can tell me if this is dumb,” Connor said, “but do you want to come over and skate with me tomorrow? It’s supposed to be nice out, and I have this rink in my backyard for my kid. Getting nostalgic for sharing the ice with you.”

 

Dylan was sitting at home on his couch, watching a movie he didn’t give a single shit about. Blue was draped over his legs, one of his hands petting her ears like a worry stone. “You have an ice rink in your backyard? Of course you have an ice rink in your backyard.”

 

“Is that a yes? Bring your skates and stick and stuff. It’ll be fun.”

 

“You know the reason I retired is because of my dumb knee, right?”   


“We’ll be gentle with it,” Connor said, and Dylan gave in. It was really, really difficult to say no to Connor McDavid.

 

\---

 

It was too warm for outdoor ice, but Connor had it anyway. Dylan knew it was just ice rink refrigeration tech that Connor had spent money on and not like, McDavid magic, but sometimes when you spent time with Connor, you could sense a little something more than everyone else had. Whether that was talent or charm or money. It _felt_ like magic.

 

Connor gave him the tour of the backyard. He had a pool too, that was closed for the season, and a hot tub that was not. The ice rink would be ball hockey for Noah in the summer, and there was a patio with an outdoor kitchen (whatever that meant). It was extravagant. But Dylan couldn’t blame him for it.

 

“At first I regretted buying this stupid fucking house, but man, you should have seen my kid’s face the first time he touched his skates to this ice, you know? His ice? Priceless.” They were on the bench by the rink, Dylan’s feet just hanging out in his untied skates, trying to get up the energy to tie them. He had a knee brace on, which was required when on skates, but his knee complicated things just enough in basically every part of his life.

 

“By ‘priceless,’ do you mean half a mil?” Dylan wasn’t sure exactly how much Connor’s rink had cost him, but he’d done some shameless googling and that seemed to be the high-end number. By the blush on Connor’s face, it wasn’t far off.

 

“Noah…” Connor started, but Dylan cut in.

 

“Hey, man, you don’t have to justify making your kid happy. I’m just giving you shit.” Connor smiled, finished tying his own skates, and dropped to his knees in front of Dylan. He took one of Dylan’s skates in his hand, rested the blade between his thighs carefully, and started tugging his laces.

 

“You still like these stupid tight?” Connor asked, his blue eyes looking up through a shaggy bang, his lips parted just a little. It was a sight, disorienting, confusing. Dylan just nodded, and Connor tied his skates tighter than they’d been since Dylan played professionally. It felt like it had been eons ago. Time could be like that—plastic and morphing. Looping. Junior felt closer to him in that moment than Tampa Bay did.

 

The rink wasn’t regulation or anything, but it had two little nets at either end and a bucket of pucks. Connor grabbed one from the bucket and tossed it on the ice, letting Dylan catch it with the toe of his stick.

 

The ice was nice if a little chewed up, and Dylan shot the puck back over to Connor gently, keeping it on the ice, shinny rules. They tossed it back and forth, lazily circling on the ice. Dylan watched the wind move Connor’s hair into soft waves, almost like he was a model, and Dylan had to focus hard on where he was setting his skates down on the ice, lest he get distracted and make a mistake, twist something that couldn’t be untwisted.

 

It was fun. Dylan had tried to ignore the ache in his chest that had been present since Connor left for the Oilers, left Dylan on Otters ice alone. There was nothing else in his entire life like being on the same ice with Connor.

 

After, Dylan sat back down on the bench and Connor kneeled in front of him again, untying his skates for him. It was pretty unnecessary. Children could get their own skates off. But this wasn’t out of necessity. This was out of something that felt more like intimacy: closeness.

 

When they got inside, Connor’s nose was pink, along with his cheeks and ears. Blondes, man. Dylan wanted to warm Connor’s face up for him with his hands, but settled on accepting a cup of tea. Tea. Connor McDavid not only drank tea now, in his old age, but had a selection of it in his cupboard. He made himself some turmeric stuff, which was supposed to be incredibly good for you. Dylan wasn’t a tea guy but opted for chamomile, and Connor made it in an Erie Otters mug for him that was chipped on one side.  

 

“Otters for life still, huh?” Dylan asked, running a thumb over the logo on one side. There was a time in his life where basically everything he owned had this logo on it. Now, he’d worked pretty hard on purging random shit with hockey logos.

 

He still had old jerseys from all his teams, of course, but he didn’t hoard t-shirts the way he did when he was a teenager. One day he’d ordered a bulk load of his favorite t-shirt in white, dark heather grey, and black, and never looked back. He convinced himself it was called “being a grown up” but really it felt more like he was running from something.

 

“That’s what ‘for life’ means,” Connor said. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved all, well um, some of my time in Edmonton. I have good memories there. But nothing will ever be like Junior, you know?”

 

Dylan did know. He nodded. The Otters weren’t just where his professional hockey hopes and dreams were born and fostered. The Otters were where he fell in love for the first time. Maybe the only time.

 

Dylan kind of thought that’s what Connor was thinking of too. At least when he was looking at Dylan like that, eyes soft, playing idly with the string to his tea bag. Dylan smiled at him, watched Connor blush and look away. It was undeniable that there was something between them still. Some spark that didn’t ever quite go out.

 

Dylan couldn’t help but wonder if it was enough to light a new fire.

 

\---

 

As the weeks passed, Dylan and Connor figured out that lunch time worked pretty well for both of them, and made a habit of grabbing something to eat between when Connor finished up practice with the Leafs, and when Dylan had to be on the ice with his girls.

 

As they eased into the season, Dylan was starting to see the potential of some of those girls, see what the team as a whole could be. Shannon had made a rule that Dylan wasn’t allowed to call any of the girls “the future _literally any male hockey player_ ” when he talked about how one of the girls had the softest hands. No, she was “the future Amanda Kessel.” Their power forward who loved crashing the net was “the future Hilary Knight.” Their goalie “the future Shannon Szabados.” Dylan was suddenly watching a lot of women’s hockey. Outside of the Olympics, he’d never really done that before.

 

“There’s something to learn there, I think,” Dylan explained, over vegetable spring rolls at the Thai place that Connor liked. When Dylan had spent all of his time with Connor McDavid as a teenager, he barely saw him eat anything spicier than ketchup. Now, his palate was all over the place. He ate mushrooms now. Dylan never would have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes.

  
“Like, ‘don’t hit each other?’” Connor asked.

 

“No, no, like how they control their zone exits and entries. They spend so much more time playing between whistles, it’s crazy. It’s such a different game.”

 

“Do you wish you’d played women’s hockey?” Connor asked. He was clearly confused about where this conversation was headed. Dylan was a little too. Dylan was always confused around Connor. They were sitting at this tiny little table, and Connor had a knee pressed against Dylan’s thigh that was threatening to short out his entire thought process at any moment.

 

He didn’t pull away from the contact, though.

 

“No, dude, do you know how much they get paid? Shit, no. I’m just saying, I’m coaching girls. I should have their game figured out a little, you know?”

 

“Your team is shaping up, huh?” Connor asked. He’d gotten pad thai with double the shrimp and had let Dylan steal some off his plate. Dylan had never lost his love of shrimp, and Connor had remembered.

 

“Yeah. It’s more fun than I thought it would be,” he admitted. This was the only head coaching job that would have him with no experience. He thought maybe one day he’d coach junior. Not that he was exactly aching to be back on a bus with a bunch of teenage boys, but it was a goal to work toward at least.

 

“I want to see them,” Connor said, his little toothy half-smile aimed right at Dylan.

 

“That would be a zoo. They wouldn’t get anything done knowing you were in the stands.”

 

“What if I wasn’t in the stands?” Connor asked.

 

“You have your thinking face on,” Dylan said. “I’m afraid of the thinking face.”

 

“What if I came and ran them through some drills. Some of the ones the Leafs do. C’mon, that would be so much fun,” Connor said.

 

“You want to run drills for high school girls during your time off? You could be doing anything.”

 

“Yeah, and what better to be doing than to help inspire the next generation of hockey players. And get to see Coach Strome.”

 

“Okay, I understand your motivation now, and you’re not invited,” Dylan said, stealing another shrimp off of Connor’s plate.

 

\---

 

Connor, he found out, was a surprise.

 

“So, the girls are in the locker room now,” Dylan said, fidgety from nerves. “So put your skates on and get ready to surprise them because they have no fucking idea.”

 

“This is going to be fun,” Connor insisted, yanking the door to the home team’s benches open and stepping from one rubberized floor mat to another. He sat on the bench and slipped his feet into his skates and laced up. He was wearing a Leafs windbreaker set, and he had a bag of hockey cards to give out at the end, because Dylan insisted that wasn’t corny.

 

Dylan already had his own skates on, and he twisted his stick in his hands, waiting for his team to come out to see Connor McDavid on their bench. Of course, it wasn’t ten years ago. Connor knew that there were hotter kids on the ice now. But if literally anyone currently playing NHL hockey had shown up to one of his practices when he was a teenager, he would have thought that was pretty cool. Even if it wasn’t, like, Sidney Crosby.

 

When Shannon led their team out onto the ice, Connor watched as the girls realized who he was, the clamor and noise that came out of them. Teenage girls just had _so much energy_ , which Connor guessed was why they were good at hockey.

 

“If you ever bothered to google me,” Dylan said, as his team took a knee and looked up to him and Connor and Shannon, “you’d know I used to play with this guy back in the day. He was alright back then.” Connor smiled as Dylan got some laughs. “He’s gonna run you guys through some drills the Leafs do at their practices.”

 

The team erupted.

 

It was a hit. Connor didn’t get through all the drills that he wanted to, because a high school team wasn’t as organized and well-greased as the Leafs were (shockingly), but he focused on skating drills and shooting drills, because he felt like those were his strengths.

 

He signed hockey cards at the end, trying to give each girl a compliment on something she’d done well on the ice. Then the girls all piled back into the locker room to get changed, and Connor faced a second wave of parents who he also signed some autographs for. The parents were a little more of the age to have watched him play when he was first getting started. When the NHL was buzzing with him being _the next one._

 

He didn’t miss that hype. He was enjoying being closer to the end of his career than the beginning. It was quieter at this end.

 

When he’d suggested doing this, he had worried a little about whether it would make Dylan happy. That was the ultimate goal. Make Dylan’s team happy, which would make Dylan happy. And Connor stood there in a very small semi-circle of parents who wanted to talk about the Oiler’s cup win two years back, taking these little glances over to Dylan. He was leaned against the rink boards from the outside, tennis shoes on and gear bag over his shoulder, smiling at the scene Connor was causing.

 

Dylan looked relaxed and pleased, and Connor wanted to kiss him.

 

When Dylan invited him over for dinner after practice, he would have been insane to say no.

 

\---

 

Having dinner at Dylan’s place was entirely motivated by the fact that Dylan didn’t like spending more than four hours away from his dog. Connor had been assured that Blue was fine alone, and that she was fine for long stretches. She was a nap champion after all. Connor got the idea that it was Dylan who started to dwindle at the three and a half hour mark.

 

Connor offered to take Blue out to the dog park area when they got back so Dylan could start prepping for dinner. He was motivated to show Blue-related initiative in order to ease deeper into Dylan’s good graces.

 

He actually really liked Dylan’s dog, this spunky, shy little pup who hid behind Connor when she saw a new man at the park Connor assumed she didn’t know. He let her pee and carried her back to the elevator not because she couldn’t handle walking, but because she relaxed in his arms like she trusted him, and that felt good.

 

When he got back upstairs, not much had gotten done on the dinner front.

 

“So, potentially awkward development of events,” Dylan said, bending down to let Blue sniff his hands, lick at his wrists.

 

“What?”

 

“Um, Chris had some stuff to grab here tonight, and I told him you were here for dinner and he kind of invited himself over.”

 

“Okay,” Connor said. They hadn’t talked about this—the feelings Connor certainly had for Dylan. The feelings Connor was hoping Dylan had for him. However, if Dylan thought it would be awkward for Connor and his boyfriend to be in the same room, Connor hoped that was a tally for him. “Yeah, that’s cool.”

 

“Okay. Um, we can reschedule if you want.”

 

“Do you want me to leave?” Connor asked. Dylan looked stressed. He would have been wringing his hands if he didn’t have one of Blue’s paws cupped in both of them, petting each individual toe.

 

“No,” Dylan said. He took a breath. “I dunno, I just wish I didn’t feel weird about it.”

 

“It’s going to be fine,” Connor said, even though in his best case scenario, Dylan broke up with Chris for him. Which _would_ be fine, at least for Connor. Connor wasn’t sure Dylan would define that word in the same way.

 

Dylan shook himself off and took another deep breath. “Okay, so I guess we’re cooking.”

  
Dylan assigned Connor chopping the vegetables, and Dylan made a sauce for the chicken he was making. It would all roast together on one pan. Connor knew they were both grown ups now—real ones—but it made his heart jump to watch Dylan know what he was doing in the kitchen. He’d been such a mess when they had been teenagers. They were both disasters. Connor felt a little ache for missing all the years when Dylan developed these skills. But it was also a little hot that Dylan was making him dinner. Even if it was also for his boyfriend.

 

When Chris got there Dylan buzzed him up, and then kind of shook the entire time Chris was in the elevator. Connor put a hand on Dylan’s shoulder to steady him, and it seemed to help a bit, until Chris knocked on the door.

 

Blue barked, and Dylan dropped the tongs in his hand. Connor shooed him away to grab the door while he cleaned up the mess, and he got to watch Dylan and Blue greet Chris from where he was crouched on the floor, paper towel in hand.

 

Chris went in for a hello kiss, and Dylan gave him the cheek, trying to pretend he was distracted by Blue and Connor, and making sure that he’d grabbed the right external hard drive that Chris was ostensibly there for. Connor was just glad he didn’t have to see Dylan kiss him on the lips.

 

“So this is Connor,” Chris said, hanging up his coat on a hook by the door. Blue was back by Connor’s side, and Connor put another little tally mark by his own name.

 

Connor shook his hand. “Good to meet you. Heard so much about you.” Connor had heard literally nothing about Chris other than his name. He was wildly different than Connor had anticipated. Chris was a good four or five inches shorter than Dylan, broad in the shoulders, a little nerdy looking. He had on a sweater with elbow patches, and glasses that made him look like he worked for NASA in the 50’s. Literally where had Dylan found this guy? If this was what Dylan was into now, it felt like Connor maybe didn’t have as much of a chance as he had thought.

 

“Ditto, and not just from Dylan. All the guys at my office are buzzing about the newest Leaf.”

 

“Yeah, it’s good to be home,” Connor said. Connor had no idea what Chris did for work. He liked it, knowing that Dylan talked about him to Chris, but didn’t talk to him about Chris to him.

 

Dylan grabbed beers and they settled in the living room while they waited for the food to cook. Blue climbed into Dylan’s lap where he was sitting in an armchair, and Dylan held her like a baby. She tucked her face against Dylan’s neck. His breathing evened.

 

Connor played with the label on his beer bottle. “So how did you guys meet?” Connor asked, trying to start some kind of conversation. There was something in the air, a sparking static tension as Chris’ eyes looked from Dylan to Connor, then back.

 

“Grindr,” Chris said, and it made Connor want to die a little.

 

“Connor doesn’t need to hear our origin story,” Dylan said, stepping in quickly, panicked look on his face.

 

Connor laughed, but he knew it came out sounding fake and awkward. He really didn’t want to imagine Dylan having casual sex with random dudes until he met his boyfriend.

 

“I told my parents we met on Match.com if you prefer that version of the story,” he said, shrugging. He was leveling Connor with an x-ray kind of a look, like he was trying to figure something out. Like he was suspicious. Connor wasn’t sure if that was because of how Dylan had been acting lately—and how could Connor know that?—or if it was just based on how weird and jumpy Connor was being now.

 

“So you won the Stanley Cup,” Chris said instead, and Connor relaxed a little. The Stanley Cup was a couple years behind him now, and he had talked about it so much since then that by now, he could talk about it without using any part of his brain.

 

“Yeah, really capped off a good run out in Edmonton. It was nice to have that under my belt before I left, you know?”

 

“What did it feel like? I was never really a sports kid, but even I dreamed of winning it, you know?”

 

“Canadian kids, for sure,” Connor agreed. “Um, it was just pure elation. It weighs about as much as Blue here, but isn’t as cute.” Connor saw Dylan give him a little smile, that unfortunately Chris also caught. “It was cool to win it when I did because my kid was eight, and he understood what it meant. Or, more than he would have if he’d been a baby. We got close when he was one, and I know a lot of people stick their babies in the cup for the picture, but my kid had this toy Stanley Cup and after we won the real one, he carried the toy one around the house with him over his head for months. The entire summer. That was probably the most fun part. Seeing how excited Noah was.”

 

“You have a kid,” Chris said, eyes darting back to Dylan. Connor felt like he was being cross-examined.

 

“Yeah, he’s ten now. He’s just a ten-year-old Canadian kid. Likes Timbits and hockey. Really into Minecraft too.” Connor kind of shrugged like, _what more do you want from me?_ “You have any kids?”

 

“No kids for me. Dylan isn’t really a kid guy either, right?”

 

“I don’t think I could handle having a baby, if that’s what you mean,” Dylan said. It was a very careful, calculated answer. Not ‘I don’t want kids.’ But ‘not a baby.’ That was different. “Plus, I already have a bundle of joy right here.” Blue licked his chin.

 

“You and that dog,” Chris said. It wasn’t a fond, affectionate positive statement. Dylan gave Chris a look.

 

“She’s my soulmate,” Dylan said, defensive.

 

“I’m going to check on the chicken,” Connor said, excusing himself. Dylan and Chris had a hushed two-minute whisper conversation while Connor peered into the oven. The veggies looked close. He rooted around in drawers to find a meat thermometer with no luck until Dylan came into the kitchen.

 

“I’m sorry about that,” he whispered to Connor, finding what Connor was looking for by pulling open the only drawer Connor hadn’t checked yet.

 

Connor just shrugged. What could he possibly say to that? He stuck the thermometer into the chicken.

 

The food was ready and Dylan plated it, let Connor take it to the table where Chris was sitting. Dylan picked Blue up from the side of the table where she was hanging, and carried her over to the couch. “Stay,” he told her, and she did, hooking her face over the back of the couch to watch them eat.

 

Connor didn’t even taste the food. He was sure it tasted fine, but it wasn’t exactly going on his list of all time favorite meals. The conversation was stiff, mostly Chris and Dylan talking about Chris’s job. He edited video for a production company apparently, and he talked about the project he was working on for a non-profit. Connor let Chris’ words just pass over him.

 

When the meal was done, Connor rinsed his plate, gave Blue kisses, and said he had to get home. Game day tomorrow and all. Really, he just had to get out of there.


	2. Chapter 2

_ You don’t hate me after that awful dinner, do you?  _ Dylan texted Connor the next day, still thinking about how awkward it had been to have Chris and Connor in the same room. After Connor had left, Chris made an excuse to leave too, even though he usually probably would have stayed over. 

 

_ You know I could never hate you.  _ Connor texted back.  _ I feel like I fucked something up. Can I do something to make it up to you? You want tickets to tonight’s game? I’d love to have you there. And Chris too.  _

 

Dylan knew that Connor would not love to have Chris there. But he liked the gesture. 

 

_ I’d love to come see you play tonight.  _

 

Connor texted him info on the tickets, which he could grab at will call. 

 

Dylan texted Chris that he was busy, and then he texted his brother to see if he wanted to go to a hockey game that night. 

 

\---

 

The Scotiabank Arena would probably always be the ACC to Dylan, who had grown up dreaming of playing in that building. And he had, even if he hadn’t had a Leaf on the front of his jersey. 

 

Connor had made offers to let Dylan back to see the locker rooms and get the tour, but Dylan insisted he was retired. He and Ryan did go down to the plexi to see warm ups though, and every time Connor paused along the boards, he stood right by Dylan, shooting him smiles over his shoulder that made Dylan feel warm even in a cold arena. 

 

In his gear, Connor was tall and broad and fucking sexy. Dylan didn’t think hockey players were really his type. He hadn’t dated a single one since Connor. He figured Connor wasn’t sexy to him because he was a hockey player, but more that this particular hockey player was sexy because he was Connor. 

 

Connor traded shots on goal with Mitch and got into a play fight with him, which had become their warm up tradition. When he migrated back over to the glass by Dylan to throw his shoulder into it, Dylan punched back, and Connor laughed. 

 

“Okay, I feel like I’m third wheeling here or something,” Ryan said from next to him. 

 

“It’s just good to see him on the ice, you know?” 

 

“You have a look in your eye that makes me think you would be happy to see him anywhere, doing anything. You’d be happy to watch him watch paint dry.” 

 

“Shuttup, Ryan.” 

 

“Is there a reason you’re here with your brother and not your boyfriend?” he asked, the question pointed and frank. 

 

“You know Chris isn’t into sports,” Dylan said, shrugging. Chris liked golf and not much else. “Plus I figured you’d like to see your old teammate?” 

 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Ryan said. The Leafs trailed off the ice as warm ups came to a close. 

 

“Let’s go find our seats,” Dylan said, changing the topic. 

 

The Leafs were playing the Dallas Stars, the youngest team in the league by median age. They were still struggling to rebuild after the Benn-and-Seguin glory days. They had a couple first overall picks on their roster, and couldn’t make anything of it. Dylan wondered if Connor looked at the Stars and was haunted by Oilers past. 

 

Dylan and Ryan didn’t spend an overwhelming amount of time talking about hockey when they were playing pro, but they talked about it more now that they were both retired. They were Kings fans by default now, because they had to root for Matty. Talking about Matt’s hockey instead of their own was easier on both of them. Talking about the game in front of them, where there really were no stakes, was easy too, commenting on how defensive Mitch’s game got over the years, and the new goalie who was microscopic in terms of goaltending in this day and age. 

 

Dylan got a text from Connor between the second and third period asking them to stick around after the game, and Ryan agreed to it. They got escorted back to the locker rooms as the team was already breaking off to leave, happy from a win. When Connor came out he was freshly showered and in one of his signature blue suits. His eyes looked incredible whenever he wore blue. Dylan wondered if this was a personal attack. 

 

“Hey, man,” Connor greeted Ryan, pulling him into a hug. Sometimes Dylan forgot that Connor and Ryan had their own separate relationship. That Ryan had gotten what Dylan had always hoped for—NHL hockey with Connor. “Can I take you guys out, or do you need to get home to your girl?” 

 

Dylan liked that Connor had thought about Blue. The night before, Chris had made him feel so stupid for how much he loved her, how much she meant to him. “She’s okay. Sleeping, I’m sure.” 

 

“He’s sure because he’s already checked his doggy cam like, a hundred times since we entered the building,” Ryan said. 

 

“Well I won’t keep you guys out too late,” Connor said, and they got a late dinner at Connor’s favorite Italian place. 

 

“I almost forgot how much hockey players are supposed to eat,” Ryan said with a chuckle, watching Connor take down an entire entre, while Ryan and Dylan split an appetizer. They’d eaten at the game. 

 

“It’s insane. I’ll be glad to eat like a normal person when this is all over,” Connor said. 

 

“You retiring soon?” Ryan asked, a bit of a confused question in his voice. 

 

“Nah. I’ll play until I can’t anymore, probably,” Connor said. “But I’m thirty-three, I can’t pretend that this is going to last forever.” 

 

“Looking to settle down in Toronto?” Ryan asked. Dylan gave him an eyebrow. Ryan shrugged innocently. 

 

“I guess I already have. Bought a house and all.”

 

“Fair enough.” 

 

“How’s retirement treating you?” Connor asked back. 

 

“Nice. I’m doing some agenting now, which is cool,” Ryan said. He had a small roster of clients, and Dylan knew he liked watching out for them. It was some innate older brother gene, he thought. Also, Ryan just liked to argue. 

 

Connor kept his foot pressed against Dylan’s as the conversation kept on, steady and unwavering. When they left for the night, Dylan was happy to be headed home to see Blue. But he also kind of didn’t want to be going home alone. 

 

\---

 

Dylan was headed out of practice, just climbing into his car when his phone started ringing. 

 

“I have the biggest, most awkward favor ever to ask you,” Connor said, and Dylan had already agreed to do it before Connor had even spit the rest of his question out. It was Connor, after all. 

 

“Yeah man, I’m on board.” 

 

“You might not be, so hear me out,” Connor said. He sounded frantic, and Dylan couldn’t help feel the pull of worry. “I have to head to the airport right now to get on my flight on time, but Molly is stuck at a doctor’s appointment and can’t come get Noah for another couple hours. I’ve called everyone. Could you watch Noah for a few hours? Molly will come pick him up when she’s done. I’m so sorry to ask.”

 

“Hey, hey, yeah I can do that. You’re at your place?” 

 

Dylan threw the call onto his car's bluetooth and headed over to Connor’s listening to him talk to Noah and explain the situation, all the while trying to do some last-minute packing. Some things never changed. 

 

By the time Dylan got there, Noah was playing Minecraft on the big TV in the living room, and Dylan already had a rundown of what needed to happen: math homework was a priority if possible. If impossible, there were chicken nuggets in the freezer and Kraft Dinner in the pantry. Connor did a hasty introduction. 

 

“Hey bud, this is Strommer. You remember him in pictures from when I was a kid?” 

 

“Otters for life,” Noah said, waving a polite ‘hi’ over his shoulder before turning back to the TV. 

 

“Wow,” Dylan said, raising his eyebrows at Connor. 

 

“You say anything once in front of a child and they’ll repeat it forever,” Connor shrugged. He was flustered, coat thrown over his arm, suitcase in hand. “Seriously, I cannot thank you enough,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Dylan on the cheek, unthinkingly, before rushing out the door to his garage. 

 

Leaving Dylan with the ghost of a cheek kiss from Connor, alone in a house with a ten-year-old.

 

How hard could this be? Dylan had been ten once. He kind of remembered. He sat on the couch by Noah, who was building a house in Minecraft. 

 

“That’s pretty cool,” Dylan said, honestly. “I play a lot of video games, but I’ve never played this one.” 

 

“Minecraft is the best, you’re missing out,” Noah said. He turned to look up at Dylan, and he had a miniature version of Connor’s face, teeth and all. Dylan had seen photos of him, but in real life it was shocking, how genetics could work. Shit. 

 

“Tell me about it,” Dylan said, pointing back at the screen, and proceeded to spend the next forty minutes listening to Noah explain every move he was making, every thought behind what he was doing. It was a little tedious, but Noah seemed engaged in it for a while. When Noah finally got a little bored, finishing off what he was building, he switched the Xbox off. 

 

“Time for homework?” Dylan asked, and Noah shrugged and sighed a sigh of a thirty-year-old. Dylan had heard the same one come out of a teenage Connor. 

 

“I guess so,” he said, wandering over to the kitchen to pull his homework out at the kitchen table. Dylan sat down next to him, looking at his homework over his shoulder. 

 

“Long division, huh?” Dylan said. 

 

“Yeah, it’s tough,” Noah said. He was curled over his worksheet, pencil in hand, poking around at it a little. 

 

“You know, I was always okay at math. If you get stuck, I could probably help you out.” 

 

“Really?” Noah asked, hopeful. Clearly, he was stuck. 

 

“Yeah. Let’s take a look at that problem, how bout it?” Dylan asked. Noah scooted closer to him, and he could see even his handwriting was like Connor’s. “Okay, so how many times does six go into twenty-five?” 

 

Before he knew it, he heard the front door open, a woman’s voice calling through the house. “Noah?” 

 

“In the kitchen, Mom,” he called back. They had gotten through Noah’s math homework for the night, and had gone on to the next day’s homework too, since Dylan was so good at helping. Honestly, it had just clicked for Noah. He was on a roll. It was kind of cool to watch. 

 

The woman who walked in had Noah’s eyes, a soft hazel instead of Connor’s bright blue. “You must be Dylan,” she said, sounding like she was ready for her day to be over. 

 

“Yeah. Molly?” he stood to shake her hand, and she pulled him into a hug instead. 

 

“You’re a lifesaver, seriously, I’m so grateful.” 

 

“Mom, Stromer is really good at math,” Noah bragged. 

 

“We all have our one subject in school, right?” Dylan said, trying to play it down. 

 

“English for me. Science for Noah,” Molly supplied. 

 

“Gym for Connor,” Dylan joked, and got a laugh out of Molly. 

 

“Alright, you packed up, kiddo?” she asked, and Noah bolted all over the house to gather his things to take back to his mom’s. When he was gone, Molly leveled a new look at Dylan. “Connor’s been...really happy lately.” 

 

“That’s good to hear,” Dylan said, hands in his pockets. He rocked back on his heels. He knew something was coming. 

 

“And all he talks about now is his old best buddy, Stromer.” Her eyebrows went up in a question. He wasn’t sure if Molly knew about him and Connor. “I know how important you were to him. And I know he’s been nursing a broken heart since he was a teenager. That broken heart wreaked havoc on my life once. I’m not interested in going through anything like that again. Especially for Noah.” 

 

“Connor and I—”

 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I know you two have something...I don’t even know. It’s nice to see Connor happy, honestly. Makes my life easier. Makes Noah’s life easier. Don’t fuck that up,” Molly said. 

 

Dylan didn’t know how to respond. So he just nodded. He followed them out, letting Molly lock up behind them. 

  
Dylan couldn’t vouch for any difference in Connor’s wellbeing since coming back to Toronto. However, he could measure his own happiness, which he had to admit had taken a sharp upturn since the day he had lunch with Mitch and Connor at the beginning of the season. 

 

\---

 

Connor called Dylan that night after his game in Philly. He was on a three game trip. He was exhausted. Still, he wanted to thank Dylan for being so amazing. “I heard you got great reviews from the man himself,” Connor said, tucked into his hotel bed. He liked thinking of every hotel he’s been in as being the same room, the same liminal space. It sure felt that way, each one with the same double beds and the same bland artwork. 

 

“He’s a cool kid. Didn’t know math homework would be the hit of the night.” 

 

“He gushed to me on our Facetime when my plane landed,” Connor said. He kind of wished he was Facetiming Dylan, but he didn’t know how to ask. “Stromer is so cool, Stromer is so smart.” 

 

“Oh, shut up.” 

 

“No, it’s a big deal. I like that my kid likes you. You get that means something to me, right?” 

 

“I like him too,” Dylan said, his voice soft. “He’s a cool kid. And jeez, he looks exactly like you.” 

 

“But he’s got his mother’s eyes—yeah, he gets the Harry Potter thing constantly, which if you’re wondering, he loves. You hangin’ with Blue?” 

 

“Yeah, but she doesn’t have my eyes,” Dylan said. 

 

“Send me photos of her? It’s been days since I’ve seen her.” Connor loved that dog, and more importantly, Connor loved that boy. He knew how important it was to Dylan that he love Blue too. Connor knew what it felt like to know someone gave a shit about your kid. This wasn’t the same, but it was the same. 

 

“Are you sweet-talking me?” Dylan asked, and Connor wished he could see Dylan’s face. 

 

“If I get Blue photos, then yeah, I’m sweet-talking you.” 

 

“Alright, give me a minute,” he said, and Connor could hear rustling around and Dylan giggling as he took some photos. Connor’s phone buzzed, and Dylan piped back up. 

 

“Okay, in your messages.” 

 

Connor switched Dylan to speaker phone while he looked. There were several. One of just Blue on her back, belly up, her paws folded forward the way all dogs do. Like their front legs become completely useless when laying like this. 

 

The rest of them were slightly blurry images of Blue and a shirtless Dylan, cuddled in bed together, Dylan spooning her. In most of them, she was twisting around to lick Dylan’s face. The sound of Dylan’s laughter was practically audible in them. One of the photos was a little calmer, Dylan looking into the camera. 

 

“Dyl,” Connor breathed as he looked at them. Dylan’s bedding was white and fluffy and Dylan’s eyes were sleepy and heavy and dark. Sexy. 

 

“She likes to be the big spoon but she’s always out of luck,” Dylan said. 

  
“I know you’re the big spoon,” Connor said. He knew from experience on that one. It made him ache for Dylan to be in his bed with him wrapped around him. Fuck, it had been a thousand years since he’d felt Dylan pressed against him and he wanted that again more than anything else. 

 

“Yeah, I guess you would know that, huh?” Dylan asked, his voice soft and fond. Connor kept looking at the last photo Dylan sent him, how fucking cuddly he looked. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” 

 

“Yeah,” Connor said, reluctant to get off the phone. “Kiss Blue goodnight for me.” 

 

“She sends kisses back.” 

 

\---

 

The day he came home from the trip, he picked Noah up from school on the way home from the airport. Noah gave Connor a play-by-play of his own hockey game from the day before, and said that he scored a spin-o-rama goal which Connor had already seen because Molly had sent him video. 

 

“Proud of you, buddy,” Connor said. They were off to get some food quick at a weird awkward non-meal time before heading to Noah’s hockey practice. Connor didn’t get to take him often, but he loved any chance to see Noah on the ice. 

 

Just as Noah’s team was getting on the ice, he saw Dylan out of the corner of his eye, wearing his coach outfit, skates already off, talking to Shannon. As Shannon headed out, Connor bumped his shoulder. 

  
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said. Dylan had a Toronto Mermaids hat on (the girls named their team), and his beard was shorter, like he’d trimmed it. Connor wondered when he’d done that. This morning, or the day before? 

 

Dylan gave him a confused look. “Can’t get enough of high school hockey practice?” 

 

“Noah’s on the ice now,” he said. 

 

“No way, can I watch with you?” 

 

They settled in the bleachers, parents in friend clumps. Connor knew Molly had hockey moms she liked, but he wasn’t actually sure which ones they were. Noah waved like a mad man when he realized that Dylan was there too. 

 

“He’s got a good pass,” Dylan said, watching their scrimmage. 

 

“Yeah, you should see this goal he scored yesterday,” Connor bragged, pulling out his phone to show Dylan the video. Dylan leaned in close, resting his cheek on Connor’s shoulder as the video played out. 

 

“That’s a McDavid classic right there if I’ve ever seen one. Is that video going to be shown ad nauseam on his draft day?” 

 

“Better than the two of us dorks waving at each other across the arena.” 

 

“Oh my god, I had forgotten about that,” Dylan laughed. “Do you have Noah overnight?” 

 

“Naw, not on school nights,” Connor said. They’d tried it out earlier in the season and it was too chaotic for Noah. Noah’s mom lived close to his school and had the morning school routine down pretty well. “I’ll drop him off after practice.” 

 

“You want to come over after? Blue’s been asking about you.” 

 

“Oh, has she? Well I miss her too much to turn down the invite,” Connor said, watching Noah skate down the ice, puck on his stick. He was fast. It scared him sometimes to think about his kid being seriously good—as good as he’d been as a kid. He knew what that life was like, and he didn’t particularly want it for Noah. 

 

“He’s got your attitude,” Dylan said, eyes following Noah as well as he tossed the puck in the back of the net. “That  _ you know I’m better than you are, just let me score my goal and we’ll all be happier  _ attitude.” 

 

“Yikes,” Connor said. “He’s got something, that’s for sure.” 

 

Practice wrapped up, and Dylan headed home. Connor helped Noah get his gear back into his bag, and they headed out too. Molly’s house was in the opposite direction as Dylan’s apartment, but the drive was filled with Connor and Noah talking about practice, and what Dylan thought about him on the ice. Noah held Dylan in such high regard already. It made Connor feel like Dylan was more than he was to Connor. More than his teenage boyfriend, his...whatever he was now. Was it still a crush if you’d already been naked with that person? 

 

By the time Connor was back at Dylan’s apartment, he was exhausted. He should probably have just gone home to sleep. The road trip took a lot out of him. Traveling was getting more grueling as he got older. But. Dylan. Dylan was more important than being rested for hockey. 

 

Dylan buzzed him up and answered his door in a soft t-shirt a size too big for him, sweatpants, and shower-wet hair, Blue barreling through him to get to Connor. 

 

“Hey, babe,” Connor said, crouching to get to Blue-level. They greeted each other and she circled him a bit, sniffing him for any changes since he had last been there. When he stood back up, she was still working on exploring his knee-area.  

 

“Hey, you,” Dylan said, pulling gently on Connor’s hand to wrap him in a hug. Connor didn’t have to be asked twice. He didn’t have to be asked at all. He just folded into Dylan, his limbs still giraffe-long, still just a little taller than Connor. Connor tucked his face into Dylan’s neck. Fuck. Dylan felt more like home than a thousand Torontos. 

 

The hug lingered and when they pulled away, Dylan looked almost shy. “Wanna watch a movie or something?” 

 

“Yeah,” Connor said, letting Dylan direct him to the place on the couch he should sit as Dylan grabbed the remote and a blanket. He spread it over their legs, and Blue curled up on Dylan’s other side. 

 

Dylan picked out an action movie on Netflix, and settled into the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table and sinking down a bit. He drifted a little closer to Connor, leaned against his arm until Connor wrapped it around his shoulders. He heard Dylan sigh a small, happy sigh, one hand in the scruff of Blue’s neck, absently playing with the fur there, collar gone from her neck. 

 

The plot of the movie was pretty easy to follow. One team of people had to get a valuable...thing...from another team of people and there were car crashes and helicopters and motorcycles between the inciting incident and the resolution. Connor was glad the plot was easy to follow because he didn’t give a shit about it. 

 

All he could think of was the boy tucked under his arm. The man, now he guessed. Dylan had grown up and that meant Connor had grown up. And all Connor wanted for the rest of his life was to sit on this couch with Dylan and his co-dependant dog, talk about Noah’s hockey and have Dylan help him with his homework. Maybe come out. Retire and never have to play NHL hockey again. 

 

It all sounded so fucking good to him. It sounded like a good life. 

 

Dylan stretched against him a bit, yawned, curled closer. “I think I fell asleep,” he said. 

 

“Yeah, I think you did,” Connor agreed, kissing the top of his head. Any move felt like a risky move, but the kiss didn’t scare Dylan off. He nuzzled into Connor’s collar. “You need to go to bed?” 

 

“I should,” Dylan said, sounding disappointed in the situation. “You probably need to get to bed too.” 

 

It wasn’t an invitation to stay, Connor could hear that much. They extracted themselves from the couch, and Connor pressed kisses to the top of Blue’s head when it was clear she wasn’t getting up after them. “Night, Blue-Belle.”

 

Dylan followed him to the front door, watched Connor put his shoes on. “Did you give my dog a really cute nickname?” he asked, looking at Connor the way he had when they were teenagers, when their entire worlds orbited each other. 

 

“Maybe,” Connor said. He hadn’t even thought of it. It just came out. “Belle cause she’s so pretty. Bluebell like the flower. Double pretty.” 

 

“Double pretty,” Dylan repeated, stepping in close to Connor. He put his hands on Connor’s chest, so warm they almost burned, and Connor’s found Dylan’s hips, his body so much more substantive than when they’d been kids. Their faces were so close, Dylan’s breath on Connor’s lips. Then Dylan’s lips were on Connor’s lips, soft at first, a surprised sound coming out of Dylan like he couldn’t believe what was happening. 

 

But Dylan wrapped his arms around Connor’s shoulders to pull him close, and Connor wrapped his own arms around Dylan’s back, the kiss getting deeper, Dylan’s lips parting for Connor. 

 

Connor felt like he hadn’t kissed anyone since the last time he’d kissed Dylan, when his collar bone had been freshly broken, and Dylan had made the long drive from Erie to Newmarket to sleep in his bed with him for a few nights. Like, obviously he’d had his mouth on other peoples’ mouths in the years that passed between them, but nothing had felt like this, felt right like this. Felt this good. 

 

They kept kissing until Connor was pressed against the front door, the weight of Dylan’s body against him. Connor wanted to hold them both there until the sun expanded and swallowed the earth. 

 

Dylan had control the way he usually had control. The way Connor liked. He’d always gravitated toward the way that being with Dylan could quiet his mind, settle something chaotic in him. He let the pads of his fingers press deeper into Dylan’s back. Dylan took a deep breath and pulled away. 

 

“Fuck,” Dylan said, his face still so close to Connor’s. “That. There’s—”

 

“There’s still something there,” Connor finished. Dylan nodded through shaky breaths. 

 

“Connor,” Dylan said, voice echoing through his little apartment. 

 

Connor brought his hands up to cradle Dylan’s face, trace the short fuzz over his jawline. He wanted to kiss Dylan again, wanted his lips back on Dylan’s now that he could see they were slick and red from kissing. Wanted to trail kisses down his jaw and neck. He wanted to drop to his knees and take Dylan in his mouth, but Dylan felt like a particularly skittish animal. He held still instead.

 

“This feels right, yeah?” Connor asked, keeping his voice low, as though he might scare Dylan away.

 

“It feels good,” Dylan said. He didn’t say it felt  _ right _ , though. “I need to think about this. I need. Some space.” 

 

Dylan took a step back, the motion sucking the air out of the room. 

 

For some reason, Connor hadn’t been expecting that. In his imagination, Dylan fell back into his arms, and they picked up where they left off. “Oh, yeah, of course you do.” Connor hadn’t forgotten about Dylan’s boyfriend, but he really, really wanted to. He wanted Dylan to do the same. He knew that made him a bad person. But Dylan had his whole entire heart, and there was no being rational under those circumstances. 

 

“Okay, well, call me when you want to talk,” Connor said, pulling the front door open. He saw Blue’s sweet head perk up at the sound, but she didn’t leave the couch. Connor hoped to god that this wasn’t the last time he’d see her. “I’ll be waiting.” 

 

Dylan caught Connor’s wrist as he headed out the door, but he didn’t say anything. Just gave Connor a squeeze and let him close the door behind him. 

 

\---

 

Dylan stood in his kitchen taking deep breaths until Blue came and helped him settle down. A minute passed. Then two. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed Connor. 

 

“Are you still here?” Dylan asked. He’d felt so, so full when Connor had been pressed against him, and so empty when Connor had left. 

 

“Yeah, just got to my car, what’s wrong?” 

 

“Nothing is wrong. I just want you to come back,” Dylan said, and heard Connor’s car door open and shut, heard his shoes crunching snow as he headed back to Dylan’s building. Dylan buzzed him up, and then Connor was back, Dylan’s blonde sunshine, a smile on his face that showed every single one of his teeth. 

 

Dylan kissed him, this time without feeling careful about it, without thinking of anything other than how the two of them were made for each other, meant to be together. Connor’s hands were up under his shirt, on his bare skin, and Dylan wanted Connor everywhere. 

 

He dragged Connor to his bedroom, closing Blue out which he felt a split second of guilt about, until he felt Connor’s lips on the back of his neck, and he refocused. 

 

Connor was ramped up, but he was still gentle as he took off Dylan’s clothes, being especially careful with Dylan’s pants over his right knee, the bad one. Dylan stripped Connor’s clothes off with less care, revealing a body he’d been trying to imagine for months. 

 

“Fuck, you’re like, all man now,” Dylan said, pushing Connor back onto his bed, his comforter rumpled like Connor’s hair now was. Connor’s chest was on display, a dusting of blonde hair just below the hollow of his throat. His shoulders were broader than the last time Dylan had seen him like this, biceps thicker. “You’re gorgeous.” 

 

Dylan learned that Connor still got that splotchy blush down his chest, still wore boxer briefs in solid black because he was always a little boring in the underwear department. Connor spread his legs, his erection evident in his underwear as Dylan settled between his legs and nuzzled him, up his bare thighs to the head of his dick, which he sucked lightly through the cotton of his underwear. 

 

He peeled Connor’s underwear off. Connor was trembling under him, but his dick was the same as it had been when they were young, his pubic hair trimmed neatly now, though. A nice surprise. “Fuck, you look good,” Dylan breathed, his mouth so close to Connor’s dick that he watched it jump at the warmth of his breath. 

 

Connor reached down to grab Dylan’s hand. “Your knee,” he said, worried, and Dylan’s heart melted for him again. 

 

“I can do this for a while. On a bed, favoring my other knee. And if we have to stop, we’ll stop.” He reassured Connor, but he liked that he worried. He liked that he remembered. 

 

“Okay,” Connor said, his other hand cupping Dylan’s jaw, looking at Dylan so fondly that Dylan snapped to it a bit. He had Connor McDavid naked in his bed. He hadn't realized how much he wanted this. How long he'd wanted this for. It didn’t feel real. 

 

He pressed his face into the crease of Connor’s leg, nuzzled into him. Connor spread his legs wider, asking for more without asking. Dylan got to it, licking up Connor’s dick before taking him into his mouth. Dylan remembered this, the million sloppy blowjobs he and Connor had traded when they’d been together, how good it always felt to have Connor in his mouth like this, the weight of him on his tongue, the taste of him as precome leaked out the tip. 

 

Connor kept stroking his cheek, his breathing catching when Dylan would swirl his tongue around his head, or lick at his slit. “Jesus you’re good at that,” Connor said, and Dylan took him deeper, pressing Connor into the back of his throat. 

 

“Okay, okay, shit, I’m close,” Connor said, and Dylan kept sucking until he could feel Connor was right on the edge, then replaced his mouth with his hand, movements fast and small, just on the head like Connor liked best. 

 

Connor came all over his stomach, squeezing Dylan’s hand tight, letting his orgasm wash over him. When he opened his eyes, Dylan was still between his legs, his bottom lip between his teeth. 

 

“Jeez, get up here,” Connor said, pulling Dylan close to him. Pressed against Connor’s bare, sticky chest felt like everything in the entire world, Connor’s breathing still uneven. His chest was strong and defined, a lifetime of professional athlete muscles maintained. Dylan knew his own body wasn’t as ridiculous as it once was, but he didn’t care anymore. His body felt like freedom now. 

 

Connor’s hands covered him, running over his shoulders, down to his waist. They tucked into the waistband of Dylan’s underwear, pulling him closer by his ass. “Baby,” Connor said, locking their mouths together once more, and Dylan could feel something tingle all the way down to his toes.  _ Baby  _ was an endearment almost never spoken, saved for the tenderest of times, the moments where they needed each other the most. Most of the time they called each other the same thing in bed that they called each other out of bed—Stromer, Davo. 

 

Connor’s hand came around to Dylan’s front, cupping his erection before pulling it out of his underwear, Connor’s hands stronger and rougher than when they were young. Connor was confident with Dylan in hand, and Dylan had to break their kiss to moan, staying close enough to share their breath between them. 

 

Dylan only had one thought in his entire mind, and that was Connor. Connor: his hands, his mouth, his chest, his dick. Those clear blue fucking eyes. 

 

Dylan came panting into Connor’s mouth, close enough to feel Connor’s lips curve into a smile. 

 

“Baby,” Connor said again, and Dylan kissed him, slower this time, letting the feeling of kissing Connor soak into him. It was different, now. Dylan was pretty sure he didn’t kiss the same way that he had when he was eighteen, and Connor didn’t either. He had more confidence, maybe. More experience. He had this dirty thing he did with his tongue that made Dylan feel like he’d get hard again if he still was a teenager. 

 

Finally, Dylan rolled off of Connor, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Mother fucker,” Dylan said, letting a breath out. He couldn’t believe this was real. He couldn’t believe, after all these years, he had Connor back in his bed. 

 

“You need a shower or a towel?” Dylan asked, looking at how messy Connor was. He was basically glowing, a smile on his face that Dylan didn’t want to think of as being smug, but might be. 

 

Connor leaned over the edge of the bed to grab Dylan’s t-shirt and cleaned up with that. “No need to get out of bed,” Connor said, pulling Dylan back to him. Connor rolled onto his side and Dylan snuggled up against Connor’s back, pressing kisses to Connor’s hairline, hair prickly on the back of his neck. 

 

Dylan was so fucking tired. He let himself bask for a few minutes, then pulled away to get out of bed. Connor flipped around, hands grabbing for him. He whined at Dylan. 

 

“I gotta go let the girl out. I’ll be back.” 

 

He dressed and put Blue’s harness on, a little glad to have a few moments to himself. Fuck. What the fuck was he doing. It’s not like he’d forgotten about Chris. It’s like Chris just didn’t matter when Connor was close. It made him feel like a terrible person. 

 

“What am I going to do, little girl?” He asked Blue in the elevator on the way back up, hand over his eyes. She sat by his feet and looked up at him. She had the sweetest face. Everyone always told him that when they met her. “You’d pick Connor too, right?” He was pretty sure she would. 

 

When he got back, Connor had found a pair of sleep pants to wear. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of water. Blue was beside herself to see him even though Connor hadn’t left. It was kind of how Dylan felt too. Happy to see Connor so casually (and so half-naked) in his space. Like he belonged there. 

 

When Dylan got close enough to Connor he got a kiss, just a peck on the lips, a second on his cheek. Connor’s hand tangled with his, like he just had to be touching Dylan’s skin somewhere. 

 

“You look good in my pajamas,” Dylan told him. They pooled a little at Connor’s feet, but just enough to make it extra cute. 

 

“Blue told me it's time for bed,” Connor said, and yeah, Blue was waiting at the bedroom door for them, like  _ c’mon I have sleeping to do here.  _

 

Dylan yawned, and Connor pulled him closer to pepper kisses into the crook of his neck and yes this— _ this— _ was what life was about.

 

\---

 

“Fuck,” Dylan said when he woke up. He was pressed against someone warm, had his arms around someone bigger than he was used to, and when he opened his eyes it was to soft blond hair, a body that was starting to stir. 

 

He heard Blue let out a grumpy sound, and he found her curled up in Connor’s arms, her head on his bicep. It was ungodly adorable. 

 

He had never felt as terrible about himself as he did in that moment. “Shit, shit,” he said, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

 

“What’s wrong, baby?” Connor asked. Dylan felt him shift until he was sitting too, pressed half against Dylan’s back, nuzzling Dylan’s shoulder blade with the softness of his beard. His arms wrapped around Dylan’s waist. 

 

“I fucked up so bad,” he said, hating himself for how good it felt for Connor to be the one comforting him. 

 

“You’re literally perfect,” Connor said, awe in his voice. Dylan knew Connor was just still high on waking up in his bed. Dylan rolled his eyes even though Connor couldn’t see him. Connor hooked his chin over Dylan’s shoulder, pressed a kiss behind his ear. 

 

“I have never, in my entire life, cheated on anyone before,” Dylan said. 

 

“Oh,” Connor said, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. 

 

“Have you ever…?” 

 

“Um, yeah. Just. Just once, on Molly, when I was trying to figure out if, I don’t know. I was confused. I wasn’t sure I was gay. It was a bad move, but it confirmed something for me, you know?” Connor did sound sorry. 

 

And maybe it’s stupid, but part of Dylan didn’t even feel like he was cheating on Chris. Like Connor was some cosmic exception to the rule. Like, having sex with any other person on the planet would have been one hundred percent absolutely wrong, but maybe having sex with the man he’d never really stopped loving was some kind of gray area.

 

Dylan hadn’t stopped loving Connor when he’d been eighteen and alone in Pennsylvania and Connor was in the show. Not when he watched Connor from across the continent have a baby, get married, get divorced, win the Stanley Cup. Not when he downloaded Grindr because not a single soul in Florida gave a shit about him so he could be a little cavalier about who he fucked. 

 

That entire time, a portion of his heart, no matter how little, no matter how close he felt to getting over Connor McDavid, still beat for him. 

 

“I gotta talk to Chris,” Dylan said, pushing Connor back down on the bed so he could cuddle into his chest. Connor wrapped him up, tucked his head under his chin. Blue made a little annoyed sound, and tried to nose her way between them to cuddle. Connor let her. Dylan loved him so much. 

 

“Are you um,” Connor started. Dylan could hear his heartbeat pickup with nerves. Dylan put a hand on Blue’s head, scratching behind her little ears. 

 

“Am I going to break up with him?” 

 

“Yeah. I mean. I hope you are. Does that make me an asshole?” 

 

“We’re both assholes in this situation I think,” Dylan sighed. “And yeah, I can’t keep dating him. Chris is, I don’t know. He’s a nice guy. I don’t want to hurt him.” 

 

“Does he love you?” Connor asked quietly. 

 

“I don’t know,” Dylan said honestly. They’d been together for five-ish months. They’d never said it. Dylan had been feeling like he should say it, but he also wanted to  _ feel  _ it before he said it. And he...just didn’t. 

 

“Do you love him?” 

 

“No,” Dylan said. It was the easiest question to answer. 

 

Connor let the silence hang between them, and Dylan could hear his unasked question.  _ Do you love me? _

 

Dylan wasn’t about to start that conversation when he had a very nice man to break up with. He checked the clock on the side table. “Eight thirty,” he told Connor, who groaned. 

 

“I have skate,” Connor said, snuggling a little closer to Dylan and his dog. He pouted, and Dylan kissed his frowny face. Like magic, a smile bloomed there instead. “Your hair is messy.” 

 

“Your hair is messy,” Dylan said, smoothing his own hair down. 

 

“Hey, that was a compliment, not a complaint,” Connor clarified, messing Dylan’s hair back up. “This week is going to be brutal.” 

 

“What’s your schedule?” 

 

“Back to back home games, tonight and tomorrow. Then I get on a plane and fly to LA.” 

 

“You get to play my little brother,” Dylan said, smiling. 

 

“You should come,” Connor said. 

 

“I’ve got my girl here,” he said, nodding to Blue. “And the Mermaids to coach. They have a few games coming up this weekend.” 

 

Connor groaned. “I hope you win.” 

 

“I hope you’re home soon.” 

 

“Back on Tuesday, and I have Noah for that evening. We’ll figure out time together,” he assured Dylan. It was weird to be on this side of things, to be the one left behind. Dylan was used to being the one getting on the plane, the one with the busy travel schedule. It was kind of a bummer to be left behind. But on the other hand, he liked his dog, his bed, his apartment, his high school team. He liked staying put. 

 

\---

 

Dylan had a restless day waiting for Chris to be done with work. He sounded happy on the phone, glad that Dylan was reaching out to see him. It had been a little while since he had, and it had not gone unnoticed. 

 

He brought Chinese food from Chris’s favorite place, and doubted he’d get to eat any of it. He felt like he was walking off a plank when he drove up to Chris’s house. 

 

“Hey, stranger,” Chris greeted, looking confused when he didn’t see a leash in Dylan’s hand. “No Blue?” 

 

“She wanted to nap instead,” Dylan said, trying to make a joke out of it. It fell flat. 

 

“So you won’t be here too long,” Chris said, his tone already disappointed, and edge to it. He wasn’t wrong. He knew that if Dylan planned on staying late or staying the night, he’d bring his dog. 

 

“Just been a busy week,” Dylan lied. When was the last time Dylan had had a  _ busy week? _ “Need to get to bed early.” 

 

“Yeah, of course,” Chris said. He brought the food into the kitchen, set it on the island, and took out plates. Chris ate Chinese food off of plates like a civilized person. Dylan had always just scrounged for whatever plastic silverware was shoved in the bag and dug in. 

 

“How’s work?” Dylan asked, scooping food onto his plate after Chris. 

 

“Busy. I have a new project. It’s been fun. It’s a short series.” He looked up at Dylan, leveled this devastating gaze at him. “But you don’t really care, do you?” 

 

“Chris,” Dylan said, trying to think up something that he could say that would make it better, even though he knew what he had to do was make it worse. “I don’t  _ not _ care about you.” 

 

Chris snorted, put his plate down on the island. 

 

“Nothing says affection like a forced double-negative. Maybe you should just be putting your food into a tupperware,” he said with a heavy sigh. Dylan put his plate down. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Dylan said. It felt like a nail in the coffin. 

 

“I didn’t stand a chance once you heard McDavid was back, did I? That’s it, right?”

 

“Connor and I—”

 

“I don’t really want to hear about him, honestly. You probably should have done this a while ago,” he said, motioning between them.  _ You should have broken up with me a while ago. _

 

“I didn’t know—”

 

“Everyone knew,” Chris said. “I knew, your brother knew, Connor sure fucking knew, that’s for sure. He looks at you like you belong to him. Didn’t really expect anything else from  _ the chosen one. _ ”

 

“I don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” It was the most useless thing he could have said. 

 

“I’m sure you didn’t. Listen, you have a lot of shit to figure out in your life outside of McDavid too. He’s not going to solve anything for you.” 

 

“I know I’m a mess.” 

 

“Yeah,” Chris said, short and clipped. He sighed and put his plate down and did a once over through his house, picking up some of Blue’s toys, putting them in a plastic grocery bag. “Tell Blue I’ll miss her.” 

 

“I will,” Dylan said. He had the bag of Blue’s things in his hand, and all that was left to do was...leave, he guessed. 

 

He got in his car and drove to his favorite burger place because he was starving. He ordered a bacon cheeseburger to go, and sat in his car and ate it, trying to talk himself out of crying. He didn’t deserve to cry. He didn’t deserve anything at that moment. 

 

He just wanted Connor to hold him, but it was six thirty. Connor was starting warmups. Connor would be pretty busy for the next several hours. 

 

Dylan headed home, flipped the Leafs game on, laid down on the couch. He let Blue lie on his chest and lick the memory of the burger off his face. It was steadying to have the weight of her on him like this, sure of where she wanted to be and who she wanted to be with. Dylan didn’t feel good enough for her at that moment. But he traced the white fur up between her eyes, stopping where it turned gray at the crown of her head, then starting back at her nose to trace the same trail. Her eyes got heavy. She napped, and they snuggled. 

 

Connor texted him at intermission, which Dylan knew he wasn’t supposed to do.  _ Are you okay? Can I come over after the game?  _

 

Dylan texted him back, just a  _ Yes to come over. No to okay.  _

 

Waiting for Connor took a thousand years. He made himself a snack, he took Blue to the dog area downstairs and tossed her tennis ball for her, the weather cold enough that she had to wear a little coat that Dylan thought looked very cute on her. He sent a photo of her to Connor. 

 

Finally, he got a text from Connor saying that he was coming over, and that Blue looked like a babe in her coat. 

 

Dylan spent that time digging through his junk drawer for the extra key fob he’d received when he moved in that he’d never given to Chris. He was tired of buzzing Connor up. He could buzz himself. Maybe he’d give Connor his second parking space too. 

 

Connor was in a game day suit when he finally got there. He’d gotten a haircut between skate and his nap, and he looked fresh and gorgeous, cheeks pink with the cold. Dylan felt a wave of certainty seeing him. Connor was it. He was Dylan’s person. 

 

“What can I do to make you feel better?” he asked, taking Dylan’s face in his hands and kissing him so gently. “Can I make you tea?” 

 

Dylan laughed. “I don’t have any tea,” he said. 

 

“How do you not have tea?” Connor balked. 

 

“I don’t drink tea,” he said, shrugging. 

 

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, right?” he asked, moving into the kitchen and digging through Dylan’s cupboards until he found some hot chocolate packets. “This is the good shit. This is what I make Noah after skating.” 

 

“How’s Noah?” Dylan asked as he leaned against the kitchen counter and watched Connor make him hot chocolate in practiced dad motions. This was how Connor knew how to take care of someone. It was sweet. Dylan would take it.  

 

“Good. Got an A on his math test today actually. Wanted me to tell you. You’re also invited to come skate with him sometime soon, just so you know.” 

 

Dylan had been so focused all day on how shitty breaking up with Chris had been and suddenly he couldn’t even call up the image of Chris’s face when he’d told Dylan to just put his food in a takeaway container. Now, all he could think about was skating with Connor and his kid. 

 

“Yeah, I’d fucking love that.” 

 

Connor stopped stirring Dylan’s drink. “Maybe I should have asked you this to begin with, but...you’re cool with Noah, right? You get that he’s my first priority? That I’m Noah’s dad first, and everything else second?” Connor looked scared for the first time, like he realized that he might lose Dylan just as quickly as he’d gotten him. 

 

“I’m in this for every part of you, the dad parts included. All of you, all of Noah.” 

 

“But you don’t want more kids.” 

 

“I didn’t want kids with Chris. That was...too permanent. Kids aren’t really on my radar, but I’m willing to have a conversation.” 

 

“I don't really want more kids,” Connor said. The relief Dylan felt hearing that was probably a sign that he shouldn’t be seeking out having babies either. 

 

“Why mess with perfection?” Dylan joked. 

 

“Exactly. Did it right the first time,” Connor said, laughing. Making fun of himself a little. He blew on Dylan’s drink and gave it a tiny sip to test the temperature. “Should be drinkable.” 

 

“Did you just make sure I wasn’t going to burn myself?” Dylan asked. Connor looked away, a little embarrassed. 

 

“My kid has like, no impulse control. He’s burned himself on hot cocoa enough times, okay? Habit.” 

 

“I like it,” Dylan said. He wasn’t really into drinking hot chocolate this late, but he took a few sips to make Connor happy. Connor was close to him, and Dylan wrapped an arm around his waist. “I like you.” 

 

They stood like that in the kitchen, the rest of the apartment dark at such a late hour, and Dylan reveled in the feeling of being able to kiss Connor freely now, without the tension of wondering if Connor liked him. Without present  _ I’m-currently-cheating-on-my-boyfriend _ guilt, even if his guilt from the night before was still hovering over him. 

 

He just let Connor take him apart via his mouth, and when Connor pulled him toward the bedroom, he went. 

 

\---

 

The months leading up to the playoffs were brutal and chaotic like they always were, and Connor felt guilty for putting everyone he loved through it. He was tired. He was grumpy. The Leafs were balanced on a wildcard slot that was making Connor edgy. 

 

It had been harder when he’d had the C, when the media looked to him alone to comment on how poorly his team was doing. Now they looked to Mitch. 

 

Still, he knew he brought his bad mood home with him. 

 

He and Dylan were at the point in their relationship where they were only pretending that Dylan didn’t live at Connor’s house. He still had his condo, but he and Blue were never there. The number of dog beds in Connor’s house had gotten out of hand, but it was worth it to find Blue and Noah curled up together on one after playing together outside. Dylan joked that he was glad their kids got along. 

 

Connor knew it wasn’t a joke. 

 

When Connor finally got home, it was late and Dylan was asleep on the couch, Blue curled up behind the bend of his knees. She poked her face up to look at Connor, her tail wagging. She didn’t move, though. 

 

“Hi baby,” he said, kissing her head before crouching down further to kiss Dylan’s forehead. The TV was still on, the soft white noise of Sportsnet’s late night roundup. Dylan stirred awake. 

 

“Hey,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. 

 

“You see the end of the game?” Connor asked. 

 

“I always do. I’m sorry it turned out like that. I know you wanted those two points.” 

 

Connor sighed. They weren’t out of the playoffs yet, but every loss made staying in the wild card spot harder. “Yeah. Mood in the room is pretty shitty.” 

 

“How’s your mood?” Dylan cupped Connor’s cheek in his hand and the warmth of his touch softened him a little. How on earth did Connor get through so many years of hockey without him? 

 

“Pretty shitty,” Connor said. He was fully sitting on the floor in front of Dylan now, and he tucked his head onto the couch so Dylan could play with his hair and give him a scalp massage. 

 

“Can I cheer you up?” 

 

“You already are, baby,” Connor said. 

 

“No, I mean, can I  _ cheer you up _ .” When Connor looked up at Dylan, his eyebrows were doing something dirty, and Connor suddenly had no access to any part of his brain other than the one that wanted Dylan naked like, right now. 

 

“Yes, yes, please,” Connor said, getting up a little too fast, putting Blue on the alert. 

 

Dylan laughed and calmed Blue back down. “Alright, bedroom,” he said. Connor loved Blue, but having her around meant basically no couch sex ever. It was hard to hold it against her, but still. 

 

Connor followed Dylan upstairs to their bedroom.  _ Their _ bedroom. Connor had stopped calling it ‘his’ bedroom basically right after he and Dylan finally figured their shit out. He watched Dylan stretch as they walked, shaking off the nap he’d been taking. Dylan’s team had their big tournament in the next couple weeks, so Dylan was carrying extra tension in his shoulders too. 

 

Dylan shut the door behind them and pulled Connor close by the waist. “Do you even want to make the playoffs?” he asked gently. Dylan was romantic and insightful and paid such careful attention to Connor. He’d been a good boyfriend when they had been teenagers, but he was actually a really amazing partner in this phase of their lives. Connor hadn’t said much about his playoff feelings outside of general stress, but when he really thought about it, no. He didn’t want the Leafs to reach the postseason. 

 

“I want this season to be over,” he admitted, tucking his head onto Dylan’s chest. Dylan swayed them side to side a bit, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Connor’s head. “Playoffs are so grueling. I won my cup, I just want summer vacation.” 

 

He could feel Dylan’s laughter in his chest. “Me too,” he said. They were taking Noah to Italy to eat a lot of food. Blue would stay with Ryan and Syd. Trip planning depended on hockey though, as always. They were saving it as a surprise for Noah.

 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, okay? Worry about summer when it’s time to worry.” Dylan headed to their closet and helped Connor take his suit off and hang it up so he didn’t need to dry clean it just to get the wrinkles out. He undid the cuffs of Connor’s shirt, then slowly unbuttoned him from the neck down to his waistband, tugging the shirt out of Connor’s pants. Then the belt came off, and his pants. Connor took care of his own socks, and then it was just his boxers, as the two of them stood in their huge closet. 

 

“You next,” Connor said, peeling Dylan’s t-shirt and sweats off. Dylan was beautiful separate from how much Connor loved him. Dylan insisted that he was soft compared to when he was pro, but he still had muscle definition, still looked like he could get back on the ice at any moment, thanks to the work he put into maintaining all of the good muscles in his knee, since he had to make up for the rough bits. 

 

On top of that, Connor was in love with him— _ in love— _ deeply, passionately, desperately, and that’s all he could see, hear, feel, taste when presented with Dylan in any state. It didn’t matter if his hair was messy or he had bags under his eyes. Dylan was the best thing he’d ever seen, and when Connor kissed him, the Toronto Maple Leafs ceased to matter at all. 

 

Dylan’s hands were warm on his waist, and Connor just wanted their kiss to last forever. Until those hands wandered down to his ass. 

 

“Sometimes I hate how hard hockey made our lives,” Dylan said. Connor thought he was on the verge of saying something sappy, but then Dylan said, “but I have to be grateful to it for this ass.” 

 

Connor laughed and pulled away from him, just enough to nudge him out of the closet and toward the bed. 

 

Dylan hopped onto it and Connor followed, climbing over Dylan until he had him against the pillows, Dylan’s hands on his biceps. Connor kissed him, and settled his body against Dylan’s, slowly rolling their hips together as they both got hard. 

 

“Mmm,” Dylan hummed into Connor’s lips. “What are you in the mood for tonight?” He grabbed Connor’s hips to pull him close, to send home how hard he was for Connor already. 

 

“What are you in the mood for?” 

 

“I’m in the mood to make my man happy,” Dylan said, eyes dark. 

 

“Then fuck me,” Connor said. “Slow.” 

 

He felt how his words hit Dylan, his dick pressing against Connor’s thigh. 

 

“If you insist.” Dylan helped Connor get settled on his back, and stripped their underwear off. Dylan grabbed their lube from their nightstand and watched as Connor spread his legs for him. It felt like the ultimate power move for Connor because he could practically watch Dylan’s mouth go dry. 

 

“Fuck,” Dylan said, smiling up at Connor as he got settled between his legs. “Jesus Christ, life is beautiful.” 

 

“Yeah, right back at ya,” Connor said. Dylan’s fingertips came up to trace up the inside of Connor’s thigh, and he shivered. 

 

Connor had never really been into this part of sex when he’d been with other people. The beginning of it, when you had to be at your most vulnerable. It was almost his favorite part with Dylan though. He wanted Dylan to touch all of him, in every way. 

 

Dylan took his time admiring Connor, but eventually he popped the lube open and coated a few fingers. Dylan was good at a lot of things, but fuck, was he ever good at fingering Connor. His touch was firm and gentle. He knew Connor’s body better than Connor did. He could respond to the way Connor was reacting before Connor’s own brain had it figured out. Dylan had him gasping in no time. 

 

Dylan let Connor fuck back on three fingers a bit, holding his hand steady as Connor rolled his hips down. He wanted Dylan’s dick in him, but it was hard to make the switch when he was already feeling so good. 

 

“You’re ready,” Dylan told him, because Dylan knew. Connor nodded, and Dylan slid his fingers out and slicked his dick up. 

 

Connor didn’t care what anyone else said about missionary. It was fucking incredible. Fuck anyone who said missionary was boring. Whoever thought that was clearly not getting fucked by Dylan Strome. Dylan scooped Connor up under his butt to pull him closer, and lined up the tip of his dick. “Ready?” Dylan whispered, arched over him. 

 

“Yeah, yes,” Connor said, holding onto Dylan’s shoulders as he pushed in. Connor felt fuller and fuller with every inch that Dylan pressed into him, and when Dylan was settled, he leaned down to kiss Connor. 

 

“Like this, baby?” Dylan asked, and shifted his hips in a slow, dirty grind. 

 

Connor couldn’t help the moan that came out of him. “Dyl, fuck,” he gasped as Dylan continued his movements. Dylan got one hand under Connor at his waist to encourage him to arch his back, and he cried out, the angle of it so fucking good he could barely breathe. 

 

Connor had thrown his head back into the pillows without even realizing it, and Dylan capitalized, running kisses up Connor’s neck. Dylan knew he couldn’t leave marks, but Connor wanted them there. Wanted a future where everyone knew that they belonged to each other. 

 

Their bedroom was a little chilly but Connor was sweating, warm from Dylan being so close, warm from the exertion. The only sounds in the room were Dylan’s thrusts into him, the way Dylan’s hips hit his ass. Dylan’s gasps and Connor’s moans. 

 

Connor snaked a hand between them, curling fingers around himself. “How is it even possible for you to feel this good?” Dylan asked, almost breathless, covering Connor’s face with kisses. 

 

“Mmmm, I’m close, give it to me hard,” Connor said, and Dylan straightened up on his knees and got a good grip on Connor’s thighs from below, holding him tight before pounding into him. Connor kept working his hand on his dick as he felt his orgasm build, and when he finally came, he felt his whole body spasm with it. It was intense. He hadn’t known how badly he’d needed that until it washed over him, Dylan’s dick still hard inside of him. 

 

Dylan had slowed down, but once Connor caught his breath, he patted Dylan’s hip. “Get yours,” he said, and Dylan shook his head at his dumb line. He curled back over Connor and buried his face in Connor’s neck, thrusting into him as Connor said dirty shit to him since he knew that’s what would do it for him. “Fuck, baby, you’re so big, give it to me,” he said. He could feel it when Dylan came. He groaned into Connor’s neck and collapsed on him, slowly sliding out of him. 

 

“Fuck,” Connor said as their breathing evened out. “God, I fucking love you.” 

 

“Love you too,” Dylan said, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. He brushed Connor’s bangs off his forehead, pressed a soft kiss to his lips. 

 

“Sometimes I like imagining what the hockey world would do if they knew how much I loved your dick,” Connor said. He only really felt comfortable being that crude before, during, or right after sex. 

 

“Yeah?” Dylan asked, a relaxed smile on his face. He had flopped down beside Connor and was using the corner of the sheet to wipe off Connor’s stomach. Connor flipped onto his side to face him better. 

 

“But for real. What if we came out?” 

 

“What, like Seguin?” Dylan asked. 

 

“I guess. Yeah, like Seguin. He did that TV special, the meet-the-boyfriend thing.” 

 

“After you retire?”

 

“I mean,” Connor said, pausing to think. “Maybe like, while I’m playing.” 

 

“Seriously?” 

 

“I hate jumping through the hoops that staying in the closet demands. Plus, someone’s gotta come out while they’re playing eventually,” Connor said, shrugging. “Might as well be me.” 

 

Dylan laughed. “I mean, you are  _ the chosen one _ after all. What are they going to do?” 

 

“Exactly. I mean. I’ll need to talk to the Leafs about it. My agent. But...you’d be comfortable with it?” 

 

“With the world knowing you love me? That I love you? Yeah, baby.” 

 

“Alright, then. I guess that seals the deal,” Connor said. Dylan pushed back into his space, planted a long, deep kiss on his lips. 

 

Connor just held onto him tight. He was never letting him go.


	3. Epilogue

Connor was in charge of picking up Blue from the groomer, since Dylan insisted on getting her a bath before her national television debut. Connor didn’t think she would really have all that much screen time, but he’d still bought a little Maple Leafs bandana at the groomer for her to surprise Dylan with. He thought she looked pretty fucking cute. 

 

When he got back to the house, he could feel Dylan’s anxiety from the front door. He let Blue off her lead and she went to go find her boy. Connor followed after. 

 

“Sportsnet said they would set up in the living room, so I assume here?” he said, pointing to the main living room. Blue hopped up on the couch right where Dylan was pointing, and finally got his attention. “Oh my god, the bandana. You’re beautiful, little girl.” Connor could see him take a deep breath, relax at least a few notches. 

 

Sportsnet arrived early, a production team loading in lights and camera equipment. The producer was directing people on how to rearrange their living room furniture, and Blue was nervous, sticking close to Dylan, hiding behind his legs. 

 

“Are you ready for this?” Connor asked, watching the circus in his house. “Still time to back out.” 

 

“And what? Live in fear of being outed by someone else forever? Might as well just do it. Get to hold your hand at the grocery store finally. Are you scared?” 

 

“Yeah,” Connor admitted. He wouldn’t be the first out NHL player—he could thank Tyler Seguin for that. But he would be the first out  _ active _ NHL player. He’d talked to his agent about this extensively. He had signed a one-year extension with the Leafs that stipulated that they couldn’t break the contract due to fan backlash in the news. Dubas was still in charge, and the Leafs room felt progressive. It was the best case scenario for coming out. Still, he was scared. 

 

Dylan turned to face him, cupped his cheek in his hand. They usually weren’t affectionate with other people around. But the point of this special was to come out publicly, and honestly, Connor needed Dylan’s hand on his cheek in that moment. 

 

“We’re just about ready, boys,” the producer called. They each got one last swipe of makeup, and Dylan straightened Blue’s bandana. That was part of the deal. Blue would be on Dylan’s lap through the interview. 

 

They got settled on a loveseat and Jane Michaels, the TV personality that Sportsnet had chosen for this interview, sitting across from them in an armchair. The energy in the room felt positive, and Connor was hopeful. It wasn’t a live interview, so it would be a couple weeks until it aired, and they would be able to approve the final cut before the world saw it. 

 

“I’m sitting here with current NHL superstar and Toronto Maple Leaf Connor McDavid, and former NHL Tampa Bay Lightning player Dylan Strome. Today is a special and exciting day, because I have the honor of helping Connor and Dylan tell the world their story. Their love story, that is, dating back all the way to junior hockey in Erie, Pennsylvania. Thanks for tuning in tonight folks. I encourage you to keep an open heart as we talk to Connor and Dylan about their journey back to each other.

 

“First of all, congratulations on a great first year back home in Toronto, Connor.”

 

“Thanks so much, Jane. Playing for the Leafs is a dream come true. Next year, we’ll get deeper in the playoffs than the first round for sure.” 

 

“Coming home to Toronto has meant more to you than just playing hockey, though,” she said. That was Connor's opening. 

 

“Yeah,” Connor said. They’d talked through the questions that would be asked, and the story Connor and Dylan wanted to tell. It helped him calm down a bit. “Toronto is where I want to raise my kid, who loves playing hockey here. Toronto also meant reconnecting with Dylan.” He looked over to Dylan, gave him a smile that Dylan returned. He was holding onto Blue tight, and Blue was taking her duties seriously, staying calm and still on Dylan’s lap. Connor put a hand on her head to steady himself, too. 

 

“Dylan, you’ve been retired for two seasons now, but before that, you mentioned that you and Connor lost touch only a few years after the draft.” 

 

Connor heard Dylan take a breath next to him. “When we were drafted, we were insanely close. We were in love, inseparable, two halves of a whole. Looking back on some of the video surrounding the draft is a little embarrassing. We were pretty obvious about how crazy we were about each other. I couldn’t have imagined anything being able to pull us apart, even distance. But Connor went to the NHL and my career got a slower start. I missed him constantly. But I was insanely jealous. It made it hard to even talk to him.” Connor moved his hand from Blue’s head to Dylan’s hand, intertwining their fingers. 

 

“So we just stopped talking,” Dylan continued. “I don’t think we ever technically broke up, actually.” 

 

Connor laughed. “I think you’re right.” 

 

“I only found out he was having a baby when I got an NHL notification on my phone. It was like that for years. Just hearing about him the way any hockey fan would. Hearing about his life because Sportsnet or the NHL told me, especially spending most of my career in the Eastern Conference.”

 

“And the first time you two saw each other again was at the beginning of this season?” 

 

“Mitch invited us both to lunch,” Connor explained. “He’s the glue in any social situation. Mitch can call you up after years and start his conversation with the word ‘also,’ like you just had a conversation with him that he wanted to add on to, and not like it had been a while since you’d connected.” 

 

“Mitch Marner,” she clarified. 

 

“Yeah, Marns,” Dylan said. “And from that day it was pretty evident that there was still a spark of something there.” 

 

“It had been years since you had even talked, and you picked up right where you left off?” 

 

“Not exactly,” Connor said. The two of them had agreed that they wouldn’t be mentioning the fact that Dylan had a boyfriend. “Things were different. We were adults with lives. I have a kid. Dylan was coaching a high school hockey team. He had this dog that had to like me before he could like me again.” 

 

Jane laughed. “Let’s talk about your hockey team and your dog, Dylan.” 

 

“I coached a girls high school team this year. It was my first coaching gig, and I did it with former Toronto Furie Shannon Moulson, who made the job easy. We came in first in their league this year, it was so much fun.” 

 

“And your dog, the sweet girl who won’t leave your side?” 

 

“That’s Blue, my rescue dog, and Connor was absolutely right that he had to win Blue’s approval first. Lucky for me, she loved him instantly.” Dylan visibly relaxed when talking about his dog. 

 

“The feeling was mutual,” Connor said, dropping Dylan’s hand to take one of her front paws in his big palm. 

 

“Sounds like magic to find your first love again,” Jane observed. She had a wedding ring on her finger, and according to the woman who was producing this segment, Jane had been a perfect fit for it because she was a sap, and they wanted to tell a relatable, sweet love story. 

 

“It’s something like magic,” Connor agreed. “It isn’t something we took for granted. I don’t think I have to tell you that the NHL is a hard place to have any kind of a relationship. Even a heterosexual relationship has the weight of constant travel and a weird schedule. The enormous amount of pressure you carry on your shoulders every day.

 

“Being in a relationship with another NHL player, unless they’re on your team or something, would be impossible. Obviously, it was impossible for us. Now that Dylan is retired, it’s easier. We get to share a life for real, and, I don’t know, Jane, we’re old. Maybe if we had stayed together, been together like this in our 20’s we’d feel differently about coming out. But now, we just want to live our lives. Hold hands in public, not worry about getting outed maliciously.” 

 

“We know that Tyler Seguin bravely blazed the trail before you two, but Connor, you’re the first active NHL player to come out. How do you think this will affect the locker room?” 

 

“It’s been a pretty big non-issue. The boys know. Some of them have known forever. Marns, for example, knew me and Dylan in the O, where we were just super obvious. Other guys found out at the end of the season, but everyone’s been cool. Supportive. The Leafs as an organization has been supportive.” Connor shook his head, a little disbelieving that it was 2030 and he still had to be having this conversation. 

 

“He’s still the same, boring Connor McDavid that he’s always been, honestly,” Dylan said, making Connor crack a smile. He didn’t smile much during interviews normally, but his normal interviews were about the power play. This was different. 

 

“The same, boring Connor McDavid,” Jane said, laughing. “But you love him.” 

 

“I do,” Dylan said, nudging Connor’s shoulder with his own. They didn’t want to be too affectionate on camera, but they also wanted to look like they liked each other. “I always have.” 

 

Connor just nodded. “Ditto.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, Tarra, for the beta! And thank you to everyone who read, kudosed, commented, or sent me super sweet messages on Tumblr. I can't tell you how much that means to me. I truly hope you liked the second half! <3 
> 
> If inclined, you can find my fic blog on Tumblr [here](http://betsywritesfic.tumblr.com), and my personal blog (mostly hockey) [here](http://thewestishharpooners.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> And because there are parts of Dylan here that are basically autobiographical (in how he talks to and about his dog), here's a [photo of my doggie](http://thewestishharpooners.tumblr.com/post/182286584879/my-dog-was-very-cute-today).

**Author's Note:**

> See y'all in a week for pt 2 :) 
> 
> Hi you can find my fic blog on Tumblr [here](http://betsywritesfic.tumblr.com), and my personal blog (mostly hockey) [here](http://thewestishharpooners.tumblr.com) :) And if you're into McStrome (as one could presume) I did just post this short (900 word) story on Tumblr [here](https://betsywritesfic.tumblr.com/post/182374514934/anon-you-had-me-at-connor-and-dylan-in-erie-need)!


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